.  ! , 


GIFT  OF 
A.    F.    Morrison 


UNDER   THE   SUN 


THE  TASHI  LAMA  AT  BUDDHGAYA. 


UNDER  THE  SUN 

IMPRESSIONS  OF  INDIAN  CITIES: 
WITH  A  CHAPTER  DEALING  WITH 
THE  LATER  LIFE  OF  NANA  SAHIB 


BY 

PERCEVAL    LANDON 

n 

AUTHOR    OF    "LHASA" 


"  In  Ynde  ben  fulle  manye  dyverse  Contrees." 

— SIR  JOHN  MAUNDEVILB;, 


NEW    YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1907 

All  rights  reserved. 


TO 
SIR   FRANK   YOUNGHUSBAND 


M98923 


PREFACE. 

UPON  the  title-page  I  have  placed  Sir  John's  comment, 
which  to  this  day  remains  the  beginning  and  the  end  of 
all  Indian  knowledge.  These  chapters  have  been  written 
in  the  course  of  annual  wanderings  over  India  during  the 
last  five  years,  and  their  intention  is  to  indicate — if  the 
unhappy  phrase  must  be  used — the  widely  different  local 
colour  that  distinguishes  one  Indian  city  from  another. 
**  Under  the  Sun "  is  not  a  record  of  the  late  tour  of  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  nor  is  it  in  any  sense  a  guide-book.  But 
as  a  companion  to  that  invaluable  volume  it  may  perhaps 
be  of  use  to  those  who  find  a  difficulty  in  making  a  picture 
out  of  the  wealth  of  detailed  Indian  information  which  every 
traveller  now  possesses.  There  are  also  some  tales. 

The  chapter  dealing  with  the  hitherto  unknown  later 
days  of  Nana  Sahib  may  seem  somewhat  out  of  keeping 
with  the  rest  of  the  book.  I  am,  however,  confident  that, 
on  the  contrary,  these  will  prove  to  no  few  the  most  interest- 
ing pages  in  the  volume,  and  my  excuse  for  inserting  them 
here  must  be  that  their  small  compass — which  I  did  not 
wish  to  expand  by  adding  in  any  way  to  the  bald  historical 
facts  that  are  here  presented  for  the  first  time — made  their 
separate  publication  somewhat  difficult.  I  owe  thanks  to 
many  both  in  India  and  at  home,  and  especially  I  wish  to 
acknowledge  the  kindness  of  the  proprietors  of  the  Daily 
Telegraph,  in  whose  columns  I  was  enabled  to  sum  up 
in  a  series  of  letters  a  part  of  what  is  here  recast  in  a 
more  permanent  form. 

PERCEVAL  LANDON. 
5,  Pall  Mall  Place,  S.W. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PREFACE vii 

BOMBAY         i 

AN  INDIAN  RAILWAY  JOURNEY 12 

UDAIPUR 26 

JAIPUR 37 

DELHI 49 

LAHORE 59 

THE  KHYBER 69 

AGRA 82 

JAMMU 92 

CALCUTTA 101 

DARJILING no 

PURI     . 119 

RANGOON 132 

MANDALAY 144 

MADRAS 154 

COCHIN  AND  KOTTYAM 1 67 

HYDERABAD  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .179 

GWALIOR       .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .        .         .190 

CAWNPORE 198 

AMRITSAR 209 

BlKANIR 222 

BENARES ....  232 

BUDDH-GAYA         ...                                            .         .  241 

SOUTH  INDIA 258 

THE  LATER  DAYS  OF  NANA  SAHIB 272 


LIST   OF    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  Tashi  Lama  at  Buddh-Gaya  (coloured) .         .  Frontispiece 

Malabar  Point,  Bombay       .....      Facing  page      4 

A  Bhairagi „  8 

The  Elephants'  Bathing  Pool  (photogravure)        .         „        „  16 

Chitor         ........„„  26 

From  the  Palace  :  Udaipur „        „  28 

Jag  Mandar         ...                  .                           „        „  30 

Udaipur  (photogravure)      .          .          .          .          .          „         „  32 

The  Royal  Palace,  Udaipur         ....„„  34 

On  the  Lake :  Udaipur „        „  36 

Amber  Palace     .......„„  40 

A  Corner  of  the  Diwan-i-Khas     .         .         .         .         „        „  56 

Ahmedabad  {photogravure)         ....„,,  60 

Kim  on  Zam-Zammah          .         .         .         .         .         „        „  62 

The  Shalimar  Gardens,  Lahore    .         .         .         .         „        „  70 

The   End   of  the   Grand  Trunk   Road,  beyond 

Landi  Kotal    .......,,„  70 

A  Kafila  in  the  Khyber  Pass        .         .         .         .         „        „  80 

The  Taj  (photogravure} „        „  88 

Jammu 96 

Nadoun,  Keeper  of  the  Tigers,  Jammu        .         .         „        „  98 

Sunrise  on  the  Hugh  (coloured}  ....„,,  102 

A  Calcutta  Sunset  (photogravure]        .         .         .         „        „  104 
Sunset  from  the  Fort,  Calcutta  (coloured )     .         .         ,,,,108 

The  Temple  of  Jaganath,  Puri  (photogravure)      .         ,,        „  120 

The  Temple  of  Jaganath,  Puri     .         .         .         .         ,,        „  128 

A  Burmese  Monastery „        ,,132 

A  Corner  in  a  Monastery  Compound  .         .         .         ,,        ,,  136 

The  Shwe'  Dagon        .         .         .         .         .         .         „        ,,  140 

Chitor                                                                                 „        „  144 
Mandalay  .                                                                           „        „  144 
The  Queen's  Golden  Monastery,  Mandalay  (photo- 
gravure]                                               „  150 


xii  LIST    OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Mahabalipuram  (coloured)   .....    Pacing  page    160 

Hampi  (photogravure]        .         .         .         .         .  „  „        164 

Siva's  Temple  at  the  Seven  Pagodas  (coloured)     .  „  „       166 

Cochin  Creek     .         .         .         .         .         .         .  ,,,,168 

A  Woman  of  Travancore     .         .         .         .         .  „  „       170 

The  Synagogue  of  the  White  Jews,  Cochin  .         .  „  „       172 

The  Church,  Kottyam         .         .         .         .         .  „  ,,172 

Entrance  to  the  Church,  Kottyam        .         .         .  „  ,,176 

Quilon  (coloured} „  „       178 

Aurangzeb's  Tomb,  Roza „  „       184 

Golconda „  „        184 

Srirangam  (photogravure]  .         .         .         .         .  „  ,,192 

The  Treasury  Square,  Amritsar   .         .         .         .  „  ,,212 

Sikh  Devotees  at  Amritsar .         .         .         .         .  „  ,,216 

City  Gate,  Bikanir „  „       224 

Gossips  in  Bikanir „  „       226 

Drawing  Water :  Bikanir    .         .         .         .         .  „  ,,226 

A  Street  in  Bikanir     ...  „  „       230 

The  Burning  Ghat,  Benares  (photogravure)          .  ,,  „       232 
The  only  Temple  to  Brahma   in   India,   on  the 

shores  of  Pushkar  Lake „  ,,236 

The    greatest    Temple    to    Siva:     the    Golden 

Temple,  Benares     ......„„       238 

The  largest  Temple  in  India  :   view  of  Forbidden 

Sanctuary  of  Vishnu's  Temple,  Srirangam           .  „  „       238 
The  Lion  Pillar  recently  found  at  Sarnath,  near 

Benares  .  „  „       240 
Buddh-Gaya       .         .                  ....„„       244 

Asoka's  Railing,  Buddh-Gaya       .         .         .         .  „  „       244 

The   Great   Buddha    on   the   Diamond   Throne, 

Buddh-Gaya             .                 .         .  „  „       250 

Under  the  Bo-tree,  Buddh-Gaya .         .         .         .  „  ,,254 

Buddh-Gaya  (coloured} „  „       256 

The  Old  Dutch  Fort,  Quilon       ....„„       258 

The  Main  Gateway,  Tanjore        .         .         .         .  ,,  „       260 

Buddhist  Cave  Ellora  (photogravure}          .         .  „  ,,262 

A  Sanctuary  in  Madura       ....  „  „       264 

The  Processional  Car,  Seringapatam    .  „  „       266 

In  a  South  Indian  Temple.          .  „  „       266 
Rameswaram  (photogravure}       ....„„       268 


UNDER   THE    SUN. 


Bombay. 


THE  fifth  morning  out  from  Aden  raises  India 
from  the  sea  ahead,  a  grey  wraith  of  jagged  mountain 
spurs  along  the  horizon  to  the  east.  Flat  and  ash- 
purple  against  the  dawn,  touched  still  with  the  last 
skeins  of  the  vapours  of  the  starry  night,  the  hills 
stand  sentinel  about  Bombay  island  and  that  all- 
precious  inner  harbour  which  nestles  between  the 
spit  on  which  the  city  lies  and  the  rugged  main- 
land beyond.  The  ranges  seem  but  a  low-lying 
confusion  at  the  first,  but  as  they  strain  themselves 
apart,  Salsette  and  Matheran  and  Khandala — 
thrones  of  mystery  not  unfit  to  form  the  back- 
ground of  the  entering-in  of  Asia — are  to  be  distin- 
guished long  before  the  first  sight  of  Bombay  itself 
is  possible.  There  is  another  hour's  steaming  before 
the  uttermost  point  of  Malabar  Hill,  with  its 

solitary  casuarina  and  its  rock-perched  bungalow, 

i 


2  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

slides  forward   to    the   north-east,  tipping   with  a 
flash   of    white    the    long    recurving   line    of   Back 
Bay.     This  is  the  real  sea-front  of  the  huge    city, 
but  it  is  sand-shallowed  and  useless  for  shipping. 
It  stretches  out  unburdened,  except  for  a  few  rude 
cock-boats   showing   where   some   pomphlet   fisher- 
men .are;  Engaged  on  their  eternal  search  among  the 
coT.kvctotted  nets,  below  the  woods  of  Government 
House.      Shallow,    indeed,    is     Back     Bay.      The 
Governor  cannot  find  water  deep  enough  even  for 
a  steam  launch  from  the  Point  to  the  Secretariat  on 
the  shore,  but  drives  round  daily  under  the  trees, 
in  scarlet  state,  four  mounted  sowars  before  and 
four  behind.     A  moment  later  the  eye  can  pick  out 
the  Rajabai  clock  tower,   and  soon  the  crowding 
domes,    roofs,    and    pinnacles    of    Bombay    detach 
themselves,   one  by   one,   from   the   neutral   back- 
ground across  the  harbour.     But  we  are  still  far 
from  our  goal.     For  Bombay  faces  east,  not  west, 
and  a  steamer  has  to  double  the  Prong  lighthouse 
at  the  extremest  tip  of  the  island  before  she  can 
swing  up,  northerly  and  deliberately,  to  an  anchor- 
age past  the  tiny  little  grass-grown  fort  of  Oyster 
Rock.     It  is  shoal  water  here,  and  we  thrash  up  a 
tawny  wash  of  mud  through  the  full  opaque  green 
of  the  still  harbour,    At  last  the  backing  screws 


BOMBAY.  3 

thrust  forward  the  tumultuous  discoloured  flood 
to  our  very  bows,  and  the  anchor  plunges  with  iron 
wrath  into  it,  tearing  behind  it  the  clattering,  rusty 
entrails  of  the  bows,  and  the  long  journey  is  at  an 
end.  We  can  lean  over  the  side  and  watch  India 
as  she  lies  out  in  the  morning  sun. 

Bombay  hangs  like  an  Oriental  ear-jewel  across 
the  sea-mouth  of  this  bowl  of  bare  hills  filled  with 
green  water.  She  is,  at  very  sea-level,  ten  miles 
in  length  from  Siwa  to  the  Prong  ;  to  the  north 
she  hangs  from  the  forbidding  mass  of  Salsette 
by  four  strands  of  rail  and  road,  and — she  is  the 
Gate  of  India.  Like  other  gates,  she  enjoys  the 
privileges  and  dignities  of  portalhood — chiefly  os- 
tentation of  architecture  and  a  proper  recognition 
of  her  own  importance.  Like  other  gates,  she  also 
pays  the  price  that  all  straitened  entries  have  to 
pay.  For  chiefly  in  the  gate  is  the  clash  and  jar 
of  custom  and  caste,  race  and  occupation,  and  the 
fierce  jostling  of  the  exchanging  caravan  and  mer- 
chandise,— nay,  for  what  other  reason  is  ready 
justice  administered  in  the  town-gate  but  this, 
that  here  is  the  shoulder-rubbing  that  ever  draws 
mankind  like  iron  in  the  hand.  There  is  no  ex- 
tinguisher of  character  like  a  turnstile,  and  no 

janitor  but  has  his  touch  of  Gallio.     Let  us  hear 

I* 


4  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

the  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter.     Bombay  has 
little  or  no  individuality. 

This    is    why    so    many    a    writer    has    tried    to 

describe   Bombay,    and   why    so    often    the    result 

is   negative,    though   using     half   a   lac   of   words. 

Simply,  it  cannot  be  done.     She  has  no  threads  of 

continuity ;     she    has    no    point    of    reference,    no 

inner    meaning.     First    and    foremost,    she    stands 

for    a    practical    need    that    comes    home    equally 

to  all  those  who  occupy  their  business  along  the 

west  coast  of  India — and  she  stands  for  little  else. 

It  would  be  easy  to  tell  some  scrap  of  the  tale 

of   the   moving  panorama   in   the   streets ;    it   has 

been    done,   and   well   done,    not   once   nor   twice, 

nor    thrice.      Yet    the     glowing    adjectives    of    a 

Chevrillon  or  a  Steevens,  or  the  quick  and  certain 

classification  of  an  Arnold,  will  not,   when   all  is 

said   and   done,   give   you   more   than   one   aspect 

of    the    great    metropolis    of    the    west.      Jostling 

each  other  in  the  streets  of  the  bazaar  there  are 

half    the    races    of    India.     From    hairy    hill-men 

of    the    north-west,    independent    sons    of    Islam, 

wearing,     despite     their     unkempt     toilette,    silk 

damasks   and   turquoise-studded  belts   of   sambar- 

skin,   bestitched   and   inlaid  with   colour,   such   as 

no  other  part  of  India  can  rival,  to  the  six-sevenths 


c  t  •  • 
:  C  «  «  • 


BOMBAY.  5 

naked  bhistie,  with  his  soiled  loin-cloth  dividing 
into  three  his  sweating,  burnt-sienna  skin,  you 
will  find  an  example  of  almost  every  one  of  the 
main  divisions  of  the  inhabitants  of  India.  But, 
if  you  look,  you  will  find  that  these  men  are  all 
strangers  like  yourself.  Like  you,  a  transitory 
necessity  drives  them  into  the  Empire's  gate ; 
but  they  have  no  home  here,  no  abiding  place, 
and,  like  you,  as  with  a  sigh  you  put  on  your  sola 
topi  once  again,  one  and  all  are  counting  the  days 
till  they  return  homewards  to  plain,  or  coast,  or 
mountain.  All,  that  is,  except  the  colourless  and 
neutral  residents  of  the  bazaar,  myriad  hewers  of 
wood  and  drawers  of  water  to  their  vivid  and 
attention-compelling  guests,  and  except  also  the 
Parsees. 

Bombay  has  been  made  by  the  Parsees  as  much 
as  by  ourselves.  The  Huguenots  of  the  East, 
they  have  acquired  power  and  wealth  in  the 
land  of  their  exile ;  and  their  black-varnished 
scuttle  hats,  unbrimmed  and  ugly  beyond  even 
the  top-hat  of  the  West,  are  the  fittest  emblems 
of  Bombay's  unruffled  commercial  prosperity. 
The  native  name  for  them,  "  crows,"  is,  in  some 
ways,  not  unjust.  They  have  reaped  where  others 
have  sown.  The  merchant  Venturers  of  England 


6  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

cleared  their  way  for  them,  and  if  they  have  now 
reached  the  uttermost  flood  of  their  fortune,  their 
future  is  not  so  much  in  doubt  from  any  slackening 
of  their  keen  business  traits  as  from  the  restraint 
of  marriage  that  their  stringent  code  enjoins. 

The  history  of  Bombay  is  half  a  romance,  half 
a  copy-book  maxim.*  They  were  shrewd  men  in 
the  old  days,  who  rented  the  dowry  of  the  Infanta 
from  Charles  II.  at  £10  a  year  "  for  ever/'  Against 
the  assaults  of  the  Admiral  of  Janjira  and  the 
Dutch  alike,  these  imperial  gamblers  clung  stub- 
bornly to  their  malarious  spit  of  land  between 
two  waters,  clung  on  through  long  and  evil  years, 
till  their  overbearing  rival,  Surat,  was  slowly  silted 
up  in  the  sands  of  the  Tapti,  and  the  impatient  tide 
of  commerce  felt  its  way  anew  southward  to  its 
only  other  outlet.  To-day  their  successors  have 
reaped  a  reward  indeed.  Karachi  is  an  overflow 
meeting  rather  than  a  rival  attraction.  Through 
Bombay  the  tides  of  men  and  merchandise  must 
flow.  But  in  its  development  Bombay  has  grown 
up  in  such  manner  as  seaports  must  needs  grow. 
Shanghai,  Hong  Kong,  Singapore,  Calcutta  itself 
—all  alike  suffer  this  loss  of  identity  beneath  the 

*  At  one  time  Cromwell  was  far-sighted  enough  to  think  of  capturing  Bombay. 
There  is  a  rumour  that  when  he  communicated  his  idea  to  them,  his  ministers  had 
some  idea  that  Bombay  was  near  Brazil. 


BOMBAY.  7 

cross-currents  of  commerce,  that  leveller  of  pre- 
judice and  pride.  It  were  as  inept  to  quote  the 
Queen's  Road  as  characteristic  of  Bombay  as  the 
bazaar  or  the  wooded  gardens  and  villas  of  Malabar 
Hill.  Elphinstone  Circle,  though  a  trifle  out  of 
date,  has  its  own  separate  story  to  tell,  and  the 
dockyard,  the  Yacht  Club,  Mazagoon,  and  Byculla 
each  has  its  significance  in  this  kaleidoscopic 
gallimaufry ;  only  the  caves  of  Elephanta  seem 
meaningless  and  forlorn.  Elephanta,  the  imme- 
diate goal  of  the  chance  visitor  to  Bombay,  scarcely 
exists  for  those  who  live  here.  The  great  rough- 
hewn  statues  still  gaze  out,  but  it  is  over  an  alien 
world.  East  and  West  have  met  on  these  islands, 
and  the  former  is  being  driven  reluctantly  away 
to  the  mainland,  of  which,  however,  nothing  will 
dispossess  her.  So  reluctantly,  indeed,  that  even 
now  the  two  great  hemispheres  live  side  by  side, 
and  the  East,  at  any  rate,  hardly  sees  the  incon- 
sistency. Do  you  want  a  proof  ?  The  great 
modern  reservoirs  of  Malabar  Hill  are  netted  over 
lest  gruesome  morsels  drop  from  the  claws  of  the 
heavy-flying  vultures  of  the  Towers  of  Silence. 
Nor  is  this  all.  Beside  the  pepals  and  palmettos 
of  the  curving  shore  the  dull,  heavy  smell  of  burnt 
wood — and  of  some  other  burning  thing  as  well — 


8  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

foists  raw  India  upon  the  civilised  senses  of  half- 
Europeanised  Bombay,  and  the  frock-coated  native 
with  a  heavily-tinselled  cap  of  velvet,  who,  with 
a  kick,  has  just  helped  his  dead  father's  soul  to 
escape  from  the  charred  prison  of  the  skull,  climbs 
into  a  first-class  carriage  at  Marine  Lines  Station, 
just  across  the  way  from  the  burning-ghat,  un- 
conscious of  any  inconsistency.  Nothing,  indeed, 
is  inconsistent  in  Bombay,  except  Elephanta,  and 
she  perhaps  does  not  count.  She  has  seen  too 
much  of  too  many  peoples. 

Bombay  lives  fiercely  from  day  to  day,  accepting 
all  as  grist  that  comes  to  her  ever-turning  temse. 
Her  very  architecture  is  restless  and  feverish.     Who 
but  those  who  live  hectically  in  a  kind  of  Asian 
Vanity  Fair  would  have  reared  the  strange  piles  of 
the  Victoria  Terminus  and  the  Taj -Mahal  Hotel  ? 
These  are  the  true  emblems  of  Bombay.     Despite 
her  magnificence  she  is  but  a  caravanserai  and  a 
starting-place,  and  you  scarcely  need  to  move  off 
the  white  and  blue  floors  of  the  gigantic  rest-house 
on   the  Apollo   Basin — shades  of  Arjumand,   they 
are  composed  of  mud  and  crockery  chips  ! — to  know 
all  that  it  imports  to  know  of  this  roaring  metro- 
polis and  clearing-house  of  the  commerce  of  five 
continents.     Hither  comes  as  much  of  the  bazaar 


, 


A  Bhairagi. 


[Facing  page  8. 


BOMBAY.  9 

as  you  may  believe  is  characteristic  of  Bombay. 
Here   for   a   night   or   two    all   Anglo-India   stays, 
drives  out  under  the   "  Queen's  Necklace/'   round 
the  bay,  eats  its  last  of  French  cookery.     Generals 
and   subalterns,    collectors,    commissioners,    Ameri- 
cans and  clerks,   globe-trotters,   parsons,   planters, 
men  who  remember,   as  of  yesterday,   the   Ripon 
riots  in  Calcutta  in  1883,  men  who,  as  young  men, 
lined  the  road  along  which  dead  Mayo  passed  in 
state  in  1873 — all  come  in  their  turn.     But  no  one 
stays.     The  incoming  and  the  outgoing  tides  surge 
and  jostle  in  the  cabined  confines  of  the  gate,  and 
all  alike  are  strangers  in  a  strange  city. 

Last  year  the  Prince  of  Wales  invested  her  with 
a  transient  importance,  and  with  a  population 
which  taxed  even  her  wide  spaces  to  accommo- 
date, but  when  the  splendid  week  had  passed 
Bombay  heard  again  as  the  dominant  note  of  her 
existence  only  the  thrumming  mills  and  hoarse 
cries  of  the  exchange  and  of  the  market,  which 
had  never  ceased  within  her  all  the  while.  She  is 
inscrutable.  In  some  ways — and  those  not  the 
best,  perhaps — she  needs  insistent  care  and  atten- 
tion. Her  boasted  title  of  the  First  of  Indian 
Cities  rings  through  the  Indian  Ocean,  but  here 
Death  is  always  a  near  acquaintance,  and  plague 


io  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

and  famine  close  companions.  Here,  too,  the  up- 
washed  vagrancy  of  the  Arabian  Sea  is  thrown 
ashore  to  mingle  with  the  unballasted  human  trash 
of  all  races,  with  all  the  flotsam  and  jetsam  that 
silts  downwards  to  a  congenial  Smyrna  in  a  farther 
Levant.  If  you  seek  for  romance  in  Bombay 
you  must  seek  it  among  those  who  cannot  get  away 
from  her ;  you  must  demand  it  of  the  Thagi  and 
Dacoity  department  or  of  the  slum  missionary. 

You  may  find  someone  to  tell  you  that  strange 
tale  of  how,  not  many  years  ago,  an  earnest  young 
police  official  caused  to  be  arrested  an  aged 
mendicant,  whose  bodily  marks  corresponded  with 
those  of  one  who  had  been  "  wanted  "  by  Govern- 
ment for  forty  years.  He  wired  to  Simla.  Wise, 
entirely  wise,  the  Viceroy  "  cleared  the  line  "  and 
made  the  telegraph  wires  hot  in  the  urgency  of  his 
counter-order,  "  Release  at  once/'  Now  the  man — 
so  he  said,  and  so  the  police  believed — was  no  other 
than  Nana  Sahib  himself.  True  or  false,  it  is  not 
uncharacteristic  of  the  place  that  that  dark  and 
restless  soul,  hounded  from  place  to  place,  seeking 
friends,  adherents,  believers,  and  finding  none 
from  Tibet  to  Satara,  should  at  last  be  drawn 
inevitably  into  the  tortuous  currents  of  Bombay, 
where,  as  in  London,  a  man  may  hide  himself 


BOMBAY.  ii 

beyond  all  search,  and  it  was  akin  to  Bombay  that 
here  of  all  places  in  the  East  the  last  transitory 
glimpse  may  have  been  caught,  as  a  diseased  and 
beggared  outcast,  of  the  infamous  figure  of  the  last 
century.  Herein  alone  is  Bombay's  romantic  side. 
Of  history  and  pageant  she  has  little,  and  to-day 
she  is  as  free  from  sentiment  as  the  notices  in  the 
halls  of  her  hotels.  She  has  her  own  business  to  do, 
and  she  has  no  time  to  waste.  She  builds  hugely, 
because  it  is\  convenient  to  transact  business  in 
ample  offices.  But  she  waters  the  streets  and  plants 
trees  with  coloured  leaves  for  the  same  reason 
as  that  for  which  she  accumulates  meaningless 
finials,  unnecessary  balustrades,  silly  rosettes,  and 
gratuitous  cusps  on  the  outside  of  her  buildings, 
and  paints  their  insides  with  fearsome  pre- Victorian 
patterns  and  glazes  their  windows  with  large 
lozenges  of  green  and  yellow  and  red  glass.  Some- 
one has  told  her  it  is  right  to  do  these  things,  and 
she  has  done  them,  only  too  glad  to  shift  to  others 
the  responsibility.  But  after  her  own  interests  she 
looks  well  enough,  and  there  is  not  a  port  in  the 
East,  perhaps  not  a  port  in  the  West  either,  whose 
prosperity  is  founded  on  such  stable  foundations  as 
those  which  the  scanty  subsoil  of  this  overcrowded 
island-spit  supplies. 


12 


An  Indian  Railway  Journey. 


ONE  goes  so  slowly  on  an  Indian  line  and,  on 
the  whole,  so  easily,  that  one  can  watch  the  pass- 
ing landscape  as  comfortably  as  from  a  stage- 
coach. And  there  is  always  something  to  see. 
Early  in  the  first  cool  dawn  you  may  raise  your- 
self on  one  elbow  to  look  out  across  the  purple 
earth  to  where  the  first  dull  crimson  and  gold  is 
gathering  in  the  East,  but  even  then  you  will  never 
be  early  enough  to  have  anticipated  the  day's 
labour.  The  European  conception  of  the  Oriental 
as  an  easy-going  and  indolent  man,  content  to  get 
his  work  done  with  the  least  possible  exertion  to 
himself,  is  only  a  half  truth.  It  is  founded  on  the 
fact  that  the  Englishman  in  India,  to  a  great  extent, 
still  keeps  to  his  home  hours  of  work  and  rest, 
and,  therefore,  is  busiest  and  most  abroad  when 
the  Asiatic  rests,  and  is  asleep  or  indoors  during 
the  long  cool  dark  hours,  when  Indian  work  in 
field  and  city  alike  is  being  done.  The  work  in 


AN    INDIAN   RAILWAY   JOURNEY.  13 

the  fields  may  not  be  hard,  but  it  is  day-long  and 
year-long  ;  even  the  children  do  their  little  share 
from  morning  to  night.  Here,  in  a  little  plot 
of  millet,  bald  of  even  a  stalk  in  places,  and 
stunted  from  end  to  end,  is  a  crazy  machan  or 
bird-scarer's  perch,  like  a  stork's  nest  on  four 
bamboo  supports,  whereon  crouches  a  seven-year- 
old  boy  beneath  the  scanty  shade  of  a  ragged 
piece  of  soiled  cloth.  He  has  no  rattle,  but  he 
cries  out  shrilly  as  a  flight  of  felon  birds  swoops 
down  with  the  orderly  flight  of  telegraph  wires  on 
his  charge.  A  small  store  of  stones  he  employs 
shrewdly,  and  to  his  youthful  mind  the  goose  and 
the  peacock  have  no  sacrosanctity  above  an  in- 
quisitive pair  of  mynas  or  a  flight  of  hungry  linnets. 
The  train  itself  helps  him  not  at  all.  In  a  sur- 
prisingly short  time  the  birds  and  beasts  of  India 
have  come  to  accept  the  train  as  a  noisy  but  good- 
natured  kind  of  elephant,  that  never  looks  either 
to  his  right  or  to  his  left  or  leaves  the  beaten  track. 
Even  the  palpitating  lizards  do  but  flick  them- 
selves a  yard  or  two  from  the  thundering  flanges. 

Between  the  railway  line  itself  and  the  wire 
fencing  there  generally  is  a  no-man's  land  of  grey, 
unfertile  soil,  a  gritty  slope  on  which  the  ak 
plant  flourishes.  This  is  your  veritable  emblem 


I4  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

of  India.  With  its  thick  glaucous  leaves,  its  stalk- 
clinging  white  and  purple  blossoms,  it  grows  as 
luxuriantly  at  Landi  Kotal  as  at  Palk  Straits.  No 
desert  soil  is  too  dry,  no  rock  cleft  too  poor,  to 
nourish  this  curious  shrub  ;  there  is  not  a  poorly- 
developed  specimen,  not  even  a  dried  or  browned 
leaf  of  the  ak  from  one  end  of  India  to  the  other. 
Go  up  to  a  plant  in  the  most  torrid  stretch  of  water- 
less stone  and  sand  in  the  peninsula,  in  such  a  place 
that  nothing  else — not  even  the  white-flowered 
"  gos,"  its  nearest  rival — can  survive,  and  snap  a 
stem  between  your  fingers.  Instantly  there  is  an 
outrush  of  white  viscous  fluid  ;  the  very  leaves  are 
milky  reservoirs  as  well.  You  had  better  not  rub 
your  eyes  with  your  fingers  afterwards.  It  is  one  of 
the  inexplicable  freaks  of  Nature,  and  were  it  less 
common,  would  be  cultivated  under  a  Latin  name 
in  hothouses  at  home.  For  it  is  a  handsome  plant, 
though,  unhonoured  and  unsung,  it  remains  the 
pariah  flower  of  India.  Rubber  can  be  made 
of  this  ak  juice.  But  a  commercial  expert  once 
gravely  explained  to  me  that  the  reason  why  there 
were  not  likely  to  be  great  results  from  its  em- 
ployment for  this  purpose,  was  that  the  resultant 
rubber  was  totally  inelastic. 

Hard  by,   if    the  ground  be  poor  enough,   will 


AN    INDIAN   RAILWAY   JOURNEY.  15 

be  the  handsome  datura,  with  its  large  white 
trumpets  amid  the  strongly-cut  deep  green  foliage. 
It  is  a  fine  weed,  and,  like  the  yellow  turwar 
yonder,  prefers  ruins  and  dead  soils  to  thrive 
among.  But  an  ineradicable  habit  of  the  Indian 
peasantry  renders  it  unpopular.  They  cunningly 
extract  from  it  a  simple  and  efficacious  poison,  and 
any  Assistant-Commissioner  will  confess  that  the 
"  snake-bite "  returns  of  his  district  are  often 
swollen  out  of  recognition  by  the  victims  of  the 
datura.  Beyond  this  little  strip  of  desert  the 
interest  of  the  land  begins. 

While  still  near  Bombay,  travel  in  India  will 
seem  cast  in  pleasant  and  fertile  spots.  Beneath 
Salsette  and  by  Kalyan  the  deep-fringed  bananas 
and  feathering  cocoanuts  rise  from  such  ponds  as 
are  illustrated  in  the  geography  books  of  the  nur- 
sery, and  the  rich  avenues  of  shisham  that  shade 
the  village  streets  sweep  past  with  a  dignity  that  is 
almost  English.  The  crops  of  maize  are  six  feet 
high,  and  the  whole  face  of  the  country  seems 
sopping  with  excess  of  rain.  But  the  reversing 
stations  near  Igatpuri  will  put  a  sudden  end  to  the 
rich  promise  of  the  western  slopes  of  the  Ghauts. 
East  of  these  historic  mountains  the  drought  of 
last  year  is  apparent.  One  cannot  wonder  that  a 


1 6  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

dry  season  means  death  for  thousands  here.  Out 
to  the  very  horizon  the  dry,  wasted  plains  of  India, 
seamed  with  arid  water-courses,  stretch ;  to  the 
visitor  the  lack  of  fertility  will  seem  to  change  but 
little  from  end  to  end  of  the  sub-continent,  except  in 
those  districts  which  are  fed  by  the  gigantic  water 
distributions  of  man's  making.  A  wheeling  vision  of 
dust  and  drought  is  in  most  years  the  prevailing  sight. 
The  scene  from  an  Indian  railway  carriage 
window  may  include  almost  everything  that  is 
most  characteristic  in  the  Empire,  the  tortured 
waste  of  waterless  nullahs  by  the  Chambal — the 
fleeting  vision  of  the  pearl-like  Taj  across  the 
river,  with  which  the  East  Indian  Railway  closes 
its  long  mileage  into  Agra — the  "  karroo "  of 
Bikanir — the  green  tropical  vegetation  of  the  Dar- 
jiling  Railway,  crowned  by  the  Himalayan  snows—- 
the lush,  rank  jungle  of  Madras — the  iron  thun- 
derings  across  the  sand-bordered  trickles  that  at 
this  season  represent  the  five  rivers  of  the  north- 
west— the  waterfalls  and  ferns  of  the  Khandala 
gradients — the  grinding  curves  and  everlasting 
smoke-bound  tunnels  of  the  Simla  Railway,  and 
a  hundred  other  scenes,  all  true  and  transient 
pictures  of  different  sides  of  Indian  life,  are  there 
for  him  to  see;  but  the  vision  that  he  and  most 


AN    INDIAN   RAILWAY   JOURNEY.  17 

Indian  travellers  will  remember  best  is  none  of 
these.  It  is  such  a  scene  as  one  has  seen  ten 
hundred  times,  the  dusty  road  crossing  the  track 
beneath  the  dusty  bebel  tree  on  the  one  side,  and 
the  dusty  "  padwan  "  on  the  other.  A  single  iron 
rail  across  it  checks  a  little  party,  who  stare  as 
the  train  goes  by — a  woman  drawing  her  sari's 
edge  across  her  lips,  while  she  holds  in  upon  her 
hips  her  naked  child  astraddle  ;  perhaps  an  older 
child  running  up  and  waving  a  welcome  to  the 
carriages,  and  a  man  attending  to  one  of  the  two 
bullocks  lest  it  swerve.  Perhaps  a  pad-footed  camel, 
heavily  laden  on  either  side  with  packs  of  coarse 
sacking ;  perhaps  a  ruth  or  zenana  bullock-cart, 
closely  veiled  against  both  curiosity  and  the  sun. 
On  the  dipping  telegraph-wires  a  green  parakeet 
and  a  flash  of  white  feathers,  as  two  mynas  tumble 
upon  the  dusty  ground  with  a  spread  of  wings — 
the  eternal  whine  of  a  Persian  water-wheel,  that  can 
hardly  be  seen  under  the  shade  of  a  dusty  banyan 
across  an  allotment  of  dry  plough-marks.  The  sun 
beats  down  fiercely  upon  the  scene,  and  the  bullocks 
blink  their  fly-ringed  eyes  in  the  glare,  and  the 
drifting  red  dust  floats  from  under  our  wheels  upon 
them  all  as  we  watch  and  go  by.  A  cactus  hedge, 
like  a  line  of  escaped  sea  monsters,  holds  up  its  green 


i8  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

claws  and  bat-like  hands,  all  unnaturally  blossomed 
at  the  edge  with  yellow  flowers,  and  the  raw  smell 
of  acacia  wood  comes  from  a  little  fire  beside  the 
stone  posts  of  the  railway  fencing.  The  man  who 
is  cooking  there  does  not  deign  even  to  turn  his 
head  over  his  shoulder  to  see  us  pass.  The  picture 
is  gone  as  soon  as  it  has  come,  and  the  dull  succes- 
sion of  dry  red  fields,  surface-scratched  and  bare, 
succeeds  again,  broken  only  by  a  rare  village,  or 
the  muddy  stagnant  pool  in  which  a  water  buffalo 
wallows,  his  nostrils  alone  standing  out  above  the 
scum  of  the  water.  And  then  every  two  or  three 
hours  the  crowded'  and  confused  panorama  of  a 
great  railway  station,  the  huddled  multitudes  lying 
like  dim  sheep  at  night,  and  pressing  and  shouting 
like  another  Babel  all  the  day  ;  the  long-drawn  cries 
of  "  Pan  bheree-e-e  "  from  the  platform  hucksters 
hurrying  up  and  down,  the  strange  meetings  over 
a  hasty  meal  at  wayside  stations  of  men  from 
Seistan  or  Mogok,  the  curious  knowledge  of  obscure 
junction  villages,  where  half  a  day  has  to  be  wasted 
before  a  train  comes  in.  Well  do  I  remember  one 
such  occasion. 

Between  Raichur  and  Adoni  the  combings  of 
the  rake  of  Allah  have  been  swept  together  into 
heaps  and  ranges  of  bare  rock  and  sun-baked  hills 


AN   INDIAN   RAILWAY  JOURNEY.  ig 

of  blackened  lumber.     It  is  a  bare  country.    Aloe 
hedges  shut  in  both  sides  of  the  line,   their    tall 
flowers  seeming  by  their  very  shape  to  mock  the 
telegraph    poles    beside    them.     Yellow    mimosas, 
or  bebel  thorns,  flourish  in  the  dry  soil,  and  where 
there  is  a  patch  of   moisture  spiky  palmettos  and 
cocoanuts    spring ;    maize    grows    poorly    in    such 
places,   too,   and  you  will  sometimes  see  a  string 
of  child-herded  buffaloes  slowly  passing  along  for 
their  evening  mud-bath  outside  the  village.     That 
is  all,  and  of  all  the  dreary  stations  in  this    land 
Wadi  is  the  dreariest.     It  is  in  Hyderabad  and  a 
junction  with  the  line  owned  by  the  Nizam.     It  also 
has  a  refreshment  room,  wherein  one  dines  on  the 
way  between  Madras  and  Bombay.     But  conceive 
it  !     There   is   a  blistering  length   of  platform  set 
between  the  glittering  silver  of  the  railway  lines — 
(nothing  ever  rusts  here).     The  station  consists  of 
the  few  necessary  official  rooms,  and,  if  I  remember, 
there  is  a  corrugated  iron  roof,  and  there  is  a  big 
water-tank,   upborne   by   iron  pillars,   for   the   use 
of  the  engines.     There  is  a  triple  dripping  water- 
carrier  for  the  use  of  the  natives,  and  a  bougain- 
villea  blazes  insolently  with  its  crude  hot  magenta 
against  the  wide  desert  sky      All  round  the  wilder- 
ness lies  hot  and  empty.     To  the  west  there  are  half 

2* 


20  UNDER  THE   SUN, 

a  dozen  ramshackle  houses  of  mud  in  which  the 

railway  workmen  have  to  live. 

Some  years  ago  I  spent  a  day  there>  Coming 
up  from  Hampij  I  had  to  join  the  train  that  ran 
through  Wadi  somewhere  about  midnight.  I  shall 
never  forget  that  day.  One  hour  seemed  like  six. 
There  was  absolutely  no  single  thing  to  do  from  one 
minute  to  the  next.  I  had  no  book.  There  was 
nothing  to  shoot,  there  was  nothing  to  sketch. 
The  heat  sweltered  along  the  empty  station,  and 
every  now  and  again  great  "  boofs  "  of  searingly  hot 
air  stirred  the  leaf -flowers  of  the  bougainvillea. 
The  shadow  of  the  overhead  roof  made  the  heat 
just  tolerable.  One  could  not  put  one's  hand 
upon  anything  an  inch  beyond  its  sharply-cut 
purple  shadow.  The  sixth  telegraph  pole  north 
and  south  crawled  with  the  mirage.  I  went  to 
see  the  station-master.  "  Do  they  keep  you  long 
here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  very.  I  am  asking  for  an  exchange  at 
once,  though." 

"  You  surprise  me/'  I  said  grimly. 

"  I  want  it,"  he  said,  "  for  two  reasons.  One," 
he  went  on,  "  you  can  imagine  for  yourself,"  and  he 
shrugged  his  arms  out  while  a  hotter  blast  than 
usual  stirred  along  the  platform.  "  The  other/' 


AN    INDIAN    RAILWAY   JOURNEY.  21 

said  he,  crossing  his  legs,  "  is  different.  Things 
got  so  monotonous  here  that  a  little  time  ago 
I  thought  Td  have  a  joke.  So  I  wrote  an  account 
of  a  cricket  match  played  here  between  the 
Wadi  Junction  eleven  and  a  visiting  team  from 
Adoni." 

I  looked  at  him.  Cricket  teams  at  Wadi.  Mark 
Tapley  could  scarcely  have  done  better. 

"  Yes/'  he  went  on  ruminatively,  "  I  did  the 
whole  thing  well.  I  was  modest  about  myself  too, 
and  I  sent  it  to  the  newspapers,  and  they  all  printed 
it.  Well,  after  that,  I  had  these  cricket  matches 
once  a  week,  and  after  a  bit  I  gave  the  averages  of 
the  team.  But  I  did  not  reckon  upon  one  thing. 
Thanks.  The  sporting  editor  of  some  Bombay 
paper  began  talking  of  the  '  hitherto  untapped  re- 
sources of  this  well-known  sporting  centre/  and  he 
suggested  that  the  gentleman  at  the  head  of  the 
bowling  averages  should  be  given  a  chance  for — 
what  do  you  suppose  ? — the  presidency  match. 
It  is  forty  miles  to  their  boundary.  Well/'  he  said, 
"  what  was  I  to  do  ?  A  letter  came  in  asking 
whether  it  were  possible  for  this  bowler  to  get  away 
for  a  day  or  two  for  some  trial  match.  That  I  stopped 
all  right/'  he  continued.  "  I  wrote  officially  as  my- 
self to  say  that  he  could  not  be  spared,  but  it  left 


22  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

me  in  a  hole.  I  could  not  very  well  stop  sending 
the  reports  in,  so  I  determined  to  reduce  his 
form.  That  is  not  so  easy,  you  know,  with  a 
bowler." 

"  But  it  was  no  use.  The  thing  had  spread/' 
he  went  on,  "  and  I  got  other  letters,  challenges, 
special  terms  offered  for  cricketing  outfits,  and, 
worst  of  all,  a  man  has  just  written  to  me,  and 
says  that  he  has  started  on  a  round  of  cricketing 
visits  during  his  holiday,  and  asks  if  I  can  put  him 
up  at  the  club  here.  Club  !  "  repeated  the  station- 
master,  with  a  withering  accent  of  sarcasm.  "  And 
he  would  like  a  day  or  two's  play  with  our  well- 
known  local  team.  He  is  due  here  in  about  ten 
days.  Of  course  it  is  not  so  much  that  he  will 
expose  my  little  fun,  but  the  poor  devil  has  pro- 
bably arranged  his  tour,  and  will  have  lost  two  or 
three  days  somewhere  else.  That,"  concluded  the 
station-master,  "  is  why  I  want  to  go  away." 

I  had  no  solution  to  suggest. 

"A  curious  thing,"  went  on  the  station-master — 
"  how  easily  you  can  take  in  people  who  flatter 
themselves  they  know  India.  Why,  every  soul 
in  the  offices  of  the  West  Coast  Clarion  must  pass 
through  this  blighted  hole  half  a  dozen  times  a 
year,  yet  they  swallowed  my  cricket  stories  with- 


AN    INDIAN   RAILWAY   JOURNEY.  23 

out  turning  a  hair.  Gad  !  "  he  added,  "  I'd  like 
to  have  'em  down  here  for  a  week.  Club,  indeed  !  " 

We  looked  out  over  the  empty  bald  bare  grit  of 
the  South  Indian  desert  plateau.  Forty  miles 
away  there  was  a  blue  line  of  hills.  Between  them 
and  us  there  was  absolutely  no  single  thing  to 
break  the  quivering  horizon  line.  If  we  had  looked 
on  the  other  side  of  the  station  we  should  have 
seen  the  same  thing.  Conversation  flagged.  Even 
the  refreshment  room  was  shut  up  between  train 
times,  probably  to  save  from  inebriety  the  prisoner- 
passengers  of  Wadi.  Merely  to  break  the  mono- 
tony I  walked  out  along  the  line  in  the  sun.  A  few 
lizards  flicked  anxiously  into  crannies  in  the  baked 
earth.  That  was  all  the  movement  in  the  land- 
scape, except  the  effervescence  of  the  mirage. 
There  was  the  peace  of  Hades  over  everything. 
I  went  back  to  the  deserted  patch  of  purple  shadow 
under  the  iron  roof,  and  immediately  the  least 
expected  thing  in  the  world  happened. 

The  station-master,  watching  a  far  distant- 
crawling  speck,  said,  "  That's  a  special."  And 
some  time  after  up  to  the  station  there  came  a 
train,  carrying  a  travelling  circus  and  menagerie. 
Nine-feet  elephants  looked  plaintively  over  the 
tops  of  the  trucks,  Panthers  and  ounces  growled 


24  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

behind  bars.  Horses,  pie-bald  and  skew-bald, 
whinnied  in  their  boxes,  and  a  flight  of  graceful 
white-and-tan  collies  were  loosed  from  a  truck  on 
to  the  platform.  It  was  the  quaintest  sight  you 
might  imagine,  and  after  the  nice  beasts  there 
descended  upon  the  platform  the  European  men 
and  women  of  the  show.  The  men  were  in  shirt- 
sleeves, dirty — oh,  very  dirty  ! — collars,  slippers,  and 
a  two-day  growth  of  beard.  They  had  perhaps  not 
washed  for  more  than  two  days.  Their  language 
was  unpleasant,  their  habits  were  similar.  The 
ladies  of  the  troupe — but  no  !  They  all  made  at 
once  for  the  refreshment  room.  It  was  a  relief 
to  go  back  to  the  beasts,  and  I  ask  you  whether  there 
ever  was  such  a  contrast  as  that  between  the  aching, 
empty  levels  of  the  deserted  Wadi  desert  and  these 
specimens  of  Western  civilisation.  There  was  a 
great  bronzed  Sikh  on  the  platform,  when,  after 
disputing  the  bill  with  such  expletive  energy  that 
the  Babu  in  charge  of  the  refreshment  room  gave 
up  the  struggle,  these  representatives  of  the  Sahib- 
log  came  out  again  on  to  the  plaftorm,  and  one 
by  one  challenged  comparison  with  the  clean-cut, 
aristocratic  features  of  this  "  nigger " — as  they 
called  him.  I  felt  inclined  to  go  up  and  apologise 
to  the  Sikh.  But  I  forbore.  I  remembered  another 


AN    INDIAN    RAILWAY   JOURNEY.  25 

occasion,  many  hundred  miles  away,  when  the 
last  touch  was  put  to  an  incident,  which  reflected 
little  credit  upon  a  few  Englishmen,  by  the  respectful 
sympathy  which  an  austere,  hook-nosed  Pathan 
rissaldar  expressed  with  the  humiliation  which 
his  own  clean-cut,  resourceful  white  officer  must 
then  be  feeling.  In  a  few  minutes  the  train  re- 
started, and  the  travelling  company  rumbled  off 
across  the  waste.  I  wish  they  had  left  one  of  the 
collies  behind  them.  In  ten  minutes  the  desert 
had  resumed  its  barren  solemnity,  and  the  sta- 
tion-master said,  "  Talking  about  that  cricket 
team V 


26 


Udaipur. 


ELSEWHERE  in  Indian  India  there  is  magnificence 
enough  of  human  construction.  Vast  fortresses  there 
are,  and  jewelled  suites  of  women's  apartments, 
the  pomp  of  isolated  tower  or  crowded  audience 
chamber,  the  ostentatious  piety  of  marble  mosque 
and  gilt-roofed  temple,  or  the  homes  of  that  grim 
and  austere  faith  which  was  content  to  burrow  out 
dark  Cyclopean  halls  in  the  living  rock,  and  worship 
three  hundred  feet  below  the  grasses  wilting  in  the 
sunshine  on  the  mountain  side.  But  alone  at 
Udaipur  is  there  in  its  perfection  the  fairy  palace 
of  one's  childhood,  just  such  a  long  cataract  of 
marble  terraces  and  halls  falling  into  the  waters  of 
a  mountain-encircled  lake,  as  the  illustrator  of  an 
Andrew  Lang  fairy  book  delights  to  draw. 

It  is  an  old  story  that  Viceroy  after  Viceroy  has 
come  to  Udaipur  revolving  in  his  mind  schemes  for 
bringing  this  lonely  capital  to  date,  and  devising 
methods  for  the  utilisation  of  Udaipur's  natural 


Chitor. 


[Pacing  page  26. 


.i:  •    • 


UDAIPUR.  27 

advantages  of  wood  and  water.  Viceroy  after 
Viceroy  from  Simla  or  Calcutta  had  expressed  a 
hope  that  those  modern  improvements  which  have 
been  adopted  to  their  vast  material  benefit  by  other 
States  might  find  a  home  here  also.  But  Viceroy 
after  Viceroy  has  gone  back  from  Udaipur  well 
content  to  leave  her  as  she  is,  unspoiled  and  un- 
improved, recognising  that  dynamo  and  driving 
band  are  poor  substitutes  for  the  splendid  pattern 
of  old-world  chivalry  and  courteous  tradition  which 
this  lovely  lake-side  palace  sets,  not  to  Mewar  and 
Rajputana  only,  of  which  the  Maharana  is  the  un- 
disputed overlord,  but  to  all  India  alike.  The  lord 
of  all  these  white  marbles,  blue  waters,  and  attendant 
hills  has  no  equal  in  our  empire.  It  is  true  that  the 
State  of  Mewar,  over  which  he  rules,  is  neither  the 
largest  nor  the  richest  even  among  his  kith  and  kin 
of  Rajputana :  strategically  Udaipur  is  a  back- 
water ;  moreover,  it  contains  no  such  holy  spots 
as  half  a  dozen  other  principalities  may  claim  ;  it 
is  only  within  the  last  ten  years  that  a  railway  has 
enabled  a  traveller  to  visit  it  in  comparative  com- 
fort ;  the  Government  of  India  has  never  been 
caused  a  pang  of  anxiety  by  anything  that  has  ever 
taken  place  within  the  borders  of  the  State.  Yet 
Udaipur  stands  alone  and  unrivalled  in  India  by 


28  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

virtue  of  India's  most  characteristic  and  iron-bound 
law.  Were  free  election  to  be  made  to-morrow 
among  the  native  competitors  for  the  kingship  of 
India,  no  one  would  dare  to  stand  against  the 
Maharana  of  Udaipur.  Islam  might  gnash  its 
teeth,  but  the  odds  are  great,  and  the  Pathans 
are  but  an  unstable  foundation  for  an  empire.  For 
Udaipur  is  the  two  hundred-and-fortieth  descendant 
in  right  line  from  the  Sun,  and  primate  and  pontifex 
secular  among  all  who  hold  the  Hindu  faith.  From 
a  hundred  walls  looks  down  the  Rana's  emblem 
— gules,  the  Sun  in  his  splendour,  or.  Timidly  do 
even  the  haughtiest  claim  kinship  with  him.  Once 
upon  a  time  the  great  Jang  Bahadur  sent  down 
twenty-seven  thousand  maunds  of  grain  to  the 
relief  of  his  famine-stricken  "cousins*'  in  Raj- 
putana.  The  word  "  cousin  "  is  vague  enough  in 
Hindostan,  and  the  gift  was  accepted.  Had  the 
Maharana  known  that  Nepal  was  on  the  strength 
of  this  kinship  daring  to  use  his  celestial  insignia, 
the  tribute  would  have  been  rejected  as  an  insult, 
for  even  the  difference  between  the  sun  and  the 
moon  is  not  as  great  as  that  between  "  suraj  ' 
and  "  chandar  "  in  this  genealogy. 

But  Udaipur  would  remain  princess  among  the 
cities  of   India  were  it  but  a  bania  or   a   sweeper 


From  the  Palace  :  Udaipur. 


[Facing  page  28. 


UDAIPUR.  29 

caste  which  reigned  beside  the  Pichola  lake.     Walls, 
indeed,  and  a  grim  bastioned  gateway  or  two,   a 
vast  and  blood-stained  record  of  gallantry,  and  a 
warlike  tradition — that  still  finds  its  echo  in  the 
tulwar  which  every  man  carries  in  his  hand  to  this 
day,  even  though  he  doubles  it  up  with  an  umbrella 
—all  these    are   here,  and   at    Chitor,  yet   Udaipur 
remains  dainty  and  feminine,  as  no  other  city  is  in 
hither  or  farther  India.     She  is  approached  wearily. 
Even  now  the  train  from  Chitorgarh  labours  along 
the  bare,  rising  plains  of  Rajputana,  with  a  heat  and 
a  dust  and  a  tardiness  which  are  no  unfit  substi- 
tutes for  those  brambles  and  spines  which  of  old 
have  always  beset  the  palace  of  a  sleeping  princess. 
Few  turn  aside  from  the  beaten  track  of  India's 
indicated     sights    to    visit    remote    Udaipur — yet 
Udaipur   is    worth    many    another    tourist    resort. 
She   lies  remote   and  unhackneyed,   hedged  about 
with  plains  above  plains,  in  which   the  only  colour 
is  that  of  a  jay's  wing  or  of  a    blue  convolvulus 
draping  a  dead  thorn  bush  ;    all  else  is   grey,  dun, 
rusty,   and   clogged,   save   the   cactus   hedges   that 
stand  up  between  plot  and  plot  too  straight  and 
smooth  to  catch  the  trailing  dust  as  deeply  as  the 
other  vegetation.     But  at  last  the  railway  station, 
respectfully  distant  from  the  city  walls,  is  reached, 


30  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

and,  after  a  couple  of    miles  along  the  road,  the 
dak  bungalow  beside  the  walls  also. 

There  are  many  things  that  are  worth  a  visit  in 
Udaipur,  but  the  lake  is  the  first  and  final  attraction. 
It  is  almost  a  pity  to  go  over  the  palace.  Nothing 
could  ever  come  up  to  the  exquisite  suggestion  of 
its  outside,  and  that,  because  its  landward  side  is 
choked  with  mean  houses,  is  only  to  be  well  seen 
from  the  island-dotted  waters  of  Pichola.  Of  these 
islands  Jag  Mandar  and  Jag  Newas  are  the  most 
important.  Both  are  almost  entirely  covered  with 
white  marble  summer  palaces,  over  which  a  few  tall 
palms  and  vivid  bananas  lift  themselves  from  the 
cloistered  gardens  inside.  From  either  there  is  to  be 
had  a  view  of  the  Sun-child's  palace  which  explains 
the  attention  and  lavish  expense  which  they  have 
enjoyed  at  the  hands  of  the  children  of  Mewar. 
There  is  a  terrace  on  Jag  Mandar — just  above  the 
steps  upon  which  the  clear  water  dances  trans- 
parently and  the  alligators  sometimes  come — from 
which  the  huge  building  is  seen  at  its  best.  Tier 
above  tier  the  snowy  walls  and  terraces  rise  from 
the  very  ripples  of  the  lake,  where  under  the  kiss 
of  the  wind  their  reflection  makes  a  matted  tangle 
of  white.  Here  and  there  the  whiteness  of  the  half- 
translucent  architecture  is  relieved  by  a  touch  of 


UDAIPUR.  31 

green  where  a  banyan  or  a  group  of  acacias  rises 
from  a  walled-in  garden-plot,  but  the  same  quick 
white,  of  half  a  hundred  shades  and  values,  argent 
in  the  sun  and  veiled-blue  in  the  shadows,  spreads 
along  the  palace  wall  or  points  itself  into  the  dome 
and  pinnacle  of  the  roof,  till  the  upper  line  cuts 
the  blue  of  the  air,  white  from  end  to  end  of  the 
thousand  feet  of  the  palace  sky-line,  save  and 
except  just  where,  at  one  end,  an  audacious  and 
flaring  bougainvillea  leans  in  lambent  magenta 
and  dark  olive-green  over  the  topmost  and  most 
secluded  court  of  all — white,  white,  and,  from 
end  to  end,  white. 

You  will  be  rowed  along  the  river  frontage,  and 
your  cicerone — whom  you  must  have  with  you,  as 
the  privilege  of  roving  about  on  Pichola  is  subject 
to  a  special  permit  and  to  this  disability — will  try 
and  make  you  land  at  Jag  Newas,  the  second  of  these 
islet  palaces.  But  you  will  be  wise  to  refuse.  Let 
your  boatmen  rather  row  you  past  Nao  and  Lai 
ghats,  bathing  steps  that  lie  northward  to  the  dam. 
Here,  in  irregular  echelons — broken  by  gravelled 
slopes,  like  Arjankura,  down  which  the  patient  oxen 
come  all  day  with  the  bhisties  to  have  their  leather 
water-skins  filled  ;  by  the  uncompromising  square 
pipal-overhung  terrace  of  a  temple,  from  which  an 


32  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

everlasting  drum  bangs,  and  the  threshold  is  spotted 
with  orange  marigolds  ;  by  the  blank  wall  of  some 
Royal  prince's  residence — the  marble  steps  which 
the  bathers  and  the  washers  use,  stretch  out  and 
stretch  on  for  half  a  mile.  Close  under  the  King's 
Palace  is  the  first  of  them,  Pipli,  hard  by  the  moor- 
ings of  the  triple-storeyed  State  barges.  The  men 
bathe  stolidly  and  alone,  each  one  absorbed  in 
attention  to  ritual.  It  is  a  religious  duty  with 
them,  a  matter  to  be  carried  out  with  exactitude 
and  scruple,  and  a  man  will  not  notice  you  as  you 
come  near  upon  the  water.  The  women  chatter 
much  in  groups  and  wash  clothes  betimes  ;  what 
with  the  clothes  they  have  cast  off  and  those  that 
lie  a-drying  on  the  upper  steps,  they  make  up  a 
rich  picture  in  the  morning  shade  beneath  the 
temple  walls.  The  children  enjoy  themselves  alone 
and  spatter  and  squeal  and  choke  in  the  shallows. 
Across  the  way,  by  Hanuman's  ghat,  a  cormorant 
sits  expectant  on  a  half-submerged  post,  and  at  its 
feet  a  heavy  tortoise  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds 
slowly  turns  over  at  water-level. 

I  remember  a  time  when  the  Pichola  Lake  pre- 
sented a  different  sight  indeed.  Beautiful  as 
Udaipur  is  at  any  hour,  and  in  any  season,  there  is 
a  well-remembered  tradition,  that  when  a  Viceroy 


UDAI1PUTR 


UDAIPUR.  33 

or  member  of  the  Imperial  house  visits  her,  the 
town  and  lake-front,  forts,  bridges,  ghats,  islands, 
and  terraces  shall  all,  that  night,  be  outlined  with 
fire. 

It  is  easy  to  waste  adjectives  on  such  a  sight, 
but,  in  sober  truth,  there  cannot  be,  there  can 
never  have  been  elsewhere  in  the  world,  such  a 
spectacle  as  the  Pichola  Lake  presents  when  its 
quick  surface  reflects  the  quiet  lights  which  trace  in 
points  of  fire,  the  steps  and  string  courses,  lintels, 
jambs,  roofs,  domes,  cupolas,  and  arched  cloisters 
of  four  miles  of  architecture.  There  is  much,  per- 
haps, to  be  said  against  the  custom.  Next  morning, 
remember,  Udaipur  lies  out  bedraggled  and  soiled 
with  a  million  smoky  patches  on  her  snow-white 
walls,  the  waters  of  the  lake  are  grey  with  soot 
and  iridescent  with  spilled  oil,  and  the  lovely  island 
palaces  are  defiled  with  smoked  patches  along 
every  sill  and  string-course.  Still,  there  must  have 
been  an  ugly  aftermath  even  in  the  most  splendid 
days  of  Florentine  or  Roman  festivals,  and  at 
the  time  the  beauty  of  these  persistent  lines  of 
light,  daintily  ruffled  by  the  quiet  night  airs,  is 
beyond  words.  Later  on,  in  the  evening  after 
the  Maharana's  state  dinner  is  over,  when  above 
the  dots  of  fire  the  shearing  rockets  curve  and  bear 

3 


34  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

coloured  fruits  in  mid-heaven,  and  huge  set-pieces, 
half-smothered  and  wholly  improved  by  bulging 
volumes  of  amber  smoke,  crackle  out  in  indistin- 
guishable figures  and  lay  coloured  pathways  over 
the  rippling  waters,  the  brilliancy  and  barbarism  of 
the  gorgeous  sight  seems  the  one  finale  needed  to 
round  off  the  faery  perfection  of  Udaipur. 

But  on  such  a  night,  though  beyond  question 
barbaric  in  Oriental  splendour,  one  touch  of  genius, 
sheer  genius,  saves  the  whole  glittering  scene  from 
that  colour  of  ostentation  that  might  have  been 
feared.  There,  where  the  mighty  mass  of  the 
Maharana's  palace  rises  sheer  above  the  lake,  there 
where  most  display  would  be  expected,  not  a  spark 
glitters  except  a  single  row  of  lights,  marking  the 
parapet  line  of  the  central  block,  rising  square  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  out  of  the  water.  All  else 
is  dark,  and  one  rather  feels  the  great  palace  to  be 
there  than  knows  it,  though  at  its  foot  low  festoons 
of  lamps  light  red-carpeted  stairs  down  to  the  water, 
which  all  day  have  been  a  solitary  splash  of  crim- 
son on  the  vast  white  building. 

But  on  other  days  of  sunshine  take  a  word  of 
advice.  Life  is  good  enough  on  the  water.  Nothing 
on  the  land  is  quite  worth  the  trouble  of  going  to 
see,  not  even  the  famous  pig-feeding  at  the  end  of 


The  Royal  Palace,  Udaipur. 


[Facing  1>age  34. 


UDAIPUR.  35 

the  lake.  Not  a  room  in  the  main  Palace  or  in  the 
water  pavilions  in  the  lake  is  worth  it.  Within 
this  exquisite  dream  of  fresh  white  marble  are 
rooms  that  must  be  seen  to  be  believed.  I  have  no 
hesitation  in  saying  that  one  room  is  without  rival 
on  earth  for  the  eye-searing  taste  displayed  in  it. 
It  is  about  forty  feet  by  twenty,  and  from  the  walls 
project  low  pillars  and  rough-edged  plaster  arches. 
The  whole  of  the  walls  and  arches  is  mustard  yellow 
distemper.  There  is  a  deep  frieze  of  atrocious 
German  "  della  Robbia  "  plaques.  The  pillars  are 
of  the  same  material,  each  one  a  tub-like  achieve- 
ment of  the  Fatherland.  From  the  centre  of  the 
ceiling,  over  a  round  table  draped  with  chenille, 
descends  a  chandelier  of  strange  form,  vast  and 
clumsy.  All  the  glass  thereon  is  petunia-coloured 
and  engraved  with  "  scenes."  The  furniture,  of 
a  pre-Victorian  gilt  description,  is  upholstered 
in  frayed  magenta  silk  brocade.  But  the  springs 
are  coming  through,  and  it  will  be  necessary  to 
re-cover  at  least  the  settee  soon — one  wonders  what 
colour  will  be  selected.  It  is  a  good  rule  never  to 
visit  the  modernised  rooms  of  an  Oriental  palace, 
but  Udaipur — Udaipur,  "  last,  loneliest,  loveliest, 
exquisite,  apart  "  —is  perhaps,  in  this  respect,  the 
very  worst  example  that  can  be  found. 

3* 


36  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

One  turns  in  towards  the  Pipli  Ghat  again,  and 
as  one  passes  idly  beneath  the  pipal  that  overhangs 
the  bank,  a  flight  of  seven  pigeons  dashes  out  across 
the  surface  of  the  water  to  the  sunset,  piercing  the 
thick  leaves  like  a  salvo  of  round  shot,  and  my  lord 
the  elephant,  under  his  crazy  thatch  of  long  grasses, 
takes  off  and  eats  the  turban  of  matted  fodder  that 
has  served  him  all  day  as  a  sun-bonnet.  The  walls 
of  the  palace  change  colour  from  lemon-yellow 
through  orange  to  a  faint  rose,  and  thence  through 
amethyst  to  a  dull  dead-leaden  white,  as  the  last 
hues  die  out  of  the  sky.  One  has  to  find  one's  way 
home  through  the  royally  luxurious  Durbar  gardens, 
past  the  open-air  wheelwright's  establishment,  past 
the  tortuous  and  crowded  lanes  of  gallantly-painted 
houses  and  crazy  shops,  till  we  make  the  great  gate- 
way, and  emerge  into  the  cold,  clear  evening  air, 
and  see  the  massive  bastions  and  battlements  of 
Sasnisargarh  beyond  the  scanty  lights  of  the  dak 
bungalow. 


On  the  Lake  :  Udaipur. 


[Facing  page  36. 


Jaipur. 


You  cannot  imagine  for  yourselves  the  capital 
of  Rajputana  unless  you  bring  visibly  before  the 
eye  of  the  mind  that  city  which,  by  order  of 
Suleiman-ben-Daoud,  was  carried  bodily  away  by 
Jinns,  and  planted  as  it  stood  in  the  midst  of  the 
desert.  North,  south,  and  east,  the  high  scarps  of 
the  protecting  mountain  ranges  rise  fair  and  steep, 
fortified  with  creeping  lines  of  masonry  ;  but  the 
wide  waste  of  sand  which  stretches  out  westward 
lies  hidden  behind  them  also — merciless,  unsym- 
pathising,  encroaching.  The  City  of  Victory  offers 
a  vain  and  doomed  resistance.  Five  miles  away, 
among  the  mountains  to  the  north,  Amber,  the  old 
city,  waits,  patient  and  ruined,  for  the  day  to  come 
when  the  long-delayed  tide  of  desert  sand  shall  sweep 
round  into  the  recess  where  Jaipur  hides,  and  the 
dainty  gardens  and  wide  pink-washed  streets  of 
balconied  and  latticed  houses  shall  at  last  become 
part  and  parcel  of  the  great  Indian  desert.  Even 


38  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

now  the  long  levels  stretch  interminably,  dry  and 
arid,  choked  with  drifted  heaps  of  grit  where  a  fold 
in  the  ground  or  a  scorched  boulder  has  arrested 
the  ever-running  skein  of  wind-blown  sand,  and 
seamed  with  the  thirsty  nullahs  where  no  plant 
blows.  Only  a  few  bebel  thorns  find  beside  the 
track  a  scanty  catchment  of  water  in  the  hollows 
dug  out  to  provide  embankment  for  the  fiery  rails, 
and  low  clouds  of  the  loose-petalled  wild  cassia 
alternates  a  pungent  yellow  with  the  faint  lilac  and 
grey-green  of  the  inevitable  ak  plant. 

Inside  a  sheltered  nook  in  the  mountains  of 
Rajputana,  where  the  bare  spurs  of  the  Amber 
ridge  thrust  out  huge  sand  groynes  into  the  wilder- 
ness, Jai  Singh  built  him  his  new  home  and  set 
it  about  with  wide  and  metalled  roads  and  orderly 
squares,  and  all  the  green  comfort  of  a  garden  town. 
From  a  distance  Jaipur  lies  hidden  amid  its  own 
foliage.  Only  here  and  there  the  high  bastions  of 
the  city  gates,  the  dainty  finials  and  cupolas  of 
the  palace  or  of  Jacob's  Museum,  or  the  curving 
edges  of  a  flame-like  temple  tower,  rise  high  over 
the  sea  of  banyan  and  neem  and  straggling  acacia. 
But  year  by  year  the  vanguard  of  the  desert  creeps 
up  from  the  south-west  nearer  and  nearer  into  the 
very  mouth  of  this  haven  of  refuge.  For  Jaipur 


JAIPUR.  39 

lies  unprotected  and  assailable  from  just  that  one 
quarter  from  which  the  danger  comes.  Her  green- 
robed  squares  and  avenues,  the  compounds  which 
surround  her  houses,  her  gardens  and  her  gallant 
walks,  spotting  and  slashing  the  sea  of  stone  and 
tile  and  mortar,  are  only  a  real  mirage.  The 
Maharaja  is  but  playing  the  game  that  Mrs.  Par- 
tington  once  played,  and  the  ocean  of  the  desert 
will  some  day  win  to  the  foot  of  the  hills,  and  the 
broad  town  of  green  and  ochre  and  pink  will  be 
as  Tadmor.  Even  now  the  first  ripples  of  that  tide 
are  seen  in  the  twelve-foot  bridle-track  of  four-inch 
dust  with  which  the  roads  are  fringed  upon  the 
right  hand  and  upon  the  left ;  already  the  very 
palace  courts  are  scenes  of  miniature  cyclones, 
and  the  sills  of  the  wayside  temple  gates  are  banked 
up  flush  with  a  ramp  of  white  dust.  The  very 
trees  that  look  so  well  from  the  heights  above,  drive 
their  hard-pressed  roots  through  dust  only  to 
deeper  dust,  and  so,  perhaps,  to  some  low  stratum 
where  they  may  suck  some  scanty  moisture  still 
left  from  last  season's  rains.  In  the  public  gardens, 
the  flowers  rise  from  thick  layers  and  blankets  of 
the  soft  and  silky  powdering,  and  there  is  not  a 
leaf  or  a  blade  of  grass  from  end  to  end  of  the  city 
which  is  not  permanently  fringed  and  coated  with 


40  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

the  white  threat  of  the  oncoming  wilderness  with- 
out. Always  the  veil,  thinner  now  and  then 
again  thicker,  hangs  in  the  air  twelve  feet  high  ; 
once  or  twice  a  day  a  dust-storm  drives  a  stinging 
haze  of  particles  which  penetrate  like  a  smell 
through  the  very  walls  and  windows  of  the  house. 
Up  on  the  deserted  hills,  Amber  still  resists  the 
subtle  teeth  of  age  and  neglect.  Indeed,  were  a 
palace  all  that  is  needed,  the  Maharaja  of  Jaipur 
might  transfer  himself  to  his  old  capital  with  as 
little  delay  as  attends  the  flitting  of  the  Viceroy 
from  Calcutta  to  Simla  year  by  year.  All  is  here 
still — the  courts  of  audience  and  the  gardens  of 
repose,  the  women's  apartments  and  the  long 
galleries  for  the  men  and  beasts.  Even  to  this 
day  the  temple  is  served  as  diligently  as  ever, 
and  the  early  visitor  to  Amber  may  still  see  the 
morning  sacrifice  to  Kali  hustled  into  the  sacred 
domain — a  goat,  dyed  blue  upon  its  head  and 
neck,  and  vaguely  resisting  the  efforts  of  the 
priest's  acolytes  to  shepherd  him  in  these  un- 
wonted paths.  Excepting  always  the  Imperial 
palaces  of  India,  there  is  not  in  the  peninsula  a 
more  exquisite  structure  of  marble  inlaid  with 
precious  and  semi-precious  stones,  of  sandal-wood 
inlaid  with  ebony  and  ivory,  than  this  deserted 


'»        «      b  :  t      (,        *, 

nmummn 


Amber  Palace. 


[Facing  page  4C. 


JAIPUR.  41 

home  of  long  dead  and  forgotten  chieftains.  Indeed, 
the  story  goes  that  Jehangir  himself,  the  pettiest 
of  soul  of  all  the  Mogul  Emperors,  sent  peremptory 
orders  that  his  vassal's  beautiful  home  should  be 
pulled  down,  as  being  more  beautiful  than  his 
own.  But  his  emissary  arrived  at  Amber  only  to 
find  the  exquisite  carvings  of  pillar  and  corbel  and 
bracket  plastered  and  overlaid  with  an  inch-thick 
coat  of  rough  cement  and  whitewash,  and  he  could 
only  return  and  report  with  amazement  to  his 
Imperial  master  that  rumour  had  strangely  exag- 
gerated the  beauties  of  Mirza  Raja's  new  palace. 
Amber  city  needs  far  more  concern.  At  a  distance  its 
streets  and  walls  seem  fairly  stout  though  roofless, 
but  a  hundred  and  eighty  years  of  neglect  have 
worked  far  more  havoc  in  poorer  homes  of  sun-dried 
brick  and  loose  stone  than  in  the  marble  and  sand- 
stone palace.  Everywhere  the  indefatigable  acacia 
has  rooted  itself,  and  the  long,  lithe  trails  of  con- 
volvulus and  karela  help,  in  their  lesser  way,  the 
work  of  disintegration. 

In  Jaipur  itself,  where  East  jostles  West,  at 
times  you  may  still  see  the  last  remnants  of  the 
old  Indian  sports,  unchanged  since  days  long  before 
those  of  the  Mohammedan  emperors.  Now  and 
again,  in  the  noonday  heat,  you  may  have  seen 


42  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

a  leopard  crouching  along  beside  its  master — 
querulous,  uncertain,  half-timid,  heavily  hooded 
with  blue  silk,  and  finding  the  trimmed  stone  of 
the  pavement  maddeningly  hot  beneath  its  silent 
pads.  But  it  is  a  different  animal  when  at  last 
after  a  tedious  stalk  of  a  herd  of  black  buck,  the 
leopard  is  unhooded  from  the  whining  bullock- 
cart  and  left  to  his  own  work.  In  all  the  world 
there  is  little  left  so  savage  and  so  beautiful  as  this 
steel-springed  cat  when  he  scents  his  quarry.  In 
a  flash  he  has  dropped  to  the  plain,  belly-flat  upon 
the  hot  stones,  while  he  works  his  way  to  a  ten- 
inch  patch  of  a  sage  brush,  all  elbows,  and  seemingly 
but  four  inches  above  the  ground.  You  may  see 
the  trail  of  him  as  he  goes.  From  one  bush  he 
makes  for  another  or  a  fold  of  ground.  One 
watches  him  with  a  touch  of  his  own  silence,  though 
the  little  caravan  of  bullock  carts  must  still  be 
kept  moving  lest  their  stopping  should  alarm  the 
buck.  So  it  goes  on,  this  yellow  devil  edging 
himself  nearer  and  nearer  to  his  chosen  prey,  till 
while  yet  fifty  yards  away  the  buck  raises  his  head. 
Whether  he  localises  his  danger  at  once  or  not, 
there  is  no  chance  of  stalking  him  a  yard  further, 
and  the  cheetah  makes  his  dash.  The  buck  is  gone 
like  a  flash  of  lightning.  There  is  not  a 


JAIPUR.  43 

sound  on  either  side.     Two  of  the  fastest  animals 
on  earth — the  cheetah  is   beyond  all   question  the 
swiftest — engage    in    a   life-and-death    race.     It  is 
soon  over,  for  if  the  cheetah  does  not  bring  his  prey 
down  in  two  hundred  yards  he  throws  up  the  chase 
and   returns  ignominiously   to  his   master.     If   he 
catches  the  buck  there  is  an  ugly  finale  of  jetting  life- 
blood  and  convulsed  limbs  and  glazing  eyes,  inter- 
fered with  by  the  cheetah's  master,  who  brings  a  huge 
wooden  spoon  filled  with  blood  and  entrails,  which  he 
forcibly  substitutes  for  the  buck  itself  under  the  still 
sucking  muzzle  of  the  unsated  leopard.    But  whether 
he  catch  his  prey  or  not,  the  cheetah's  flight  over  the 
ground  for  two  hundred  yards  is  a  thing  for  which 
alone  it  is  almost  worth  while  to  go  to  Jaipur. 

Other  barbaric  sports  still  hold  their  own  here. 
All  one  afternoon  there  be  animal-fighting  in 
the  Maharaja's  arena.  Every  male  beast,  and 
not  a  few  birds  also,  is  here  pitted  against  his  own 
kind ;  stags,  goats,  buffaloes,  rams,  boars — every- 
thing that  has  the  power  to  fight  is  here  brought 
into  the  lists,  and  anyone  who  has  once  heard  the 
sound  of  the  meeting  of  two  fresh  and  keen  rams 
will  remember  it,  with  a  headache,  to  this  day. 
Little  harm  is  actually  done  ;  most  of  these  duels 
terminate  by  the  exhaustion  of  both  sides,  while 


44  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

the  quails,  cocks,  and  partridges  seem  positively  to 
enjoy  an  occasional  set-to  in  public.  Nearer  home 
still,  the  alligators  may  be  fed  with  lumps  of  raw 
meat  in  the  huge  rectangular  tank.  At  first  you  will 
hardly  believe  that  there  are  any  of  the  brutes  there 
at  all,  but  the  high  call  of  their  keeper  at  a  little 
ghat  on  one  side  of  the  reservoir  will,  after  a  time, 
cause  little  whirlpools  on  the  surface  of  the  water, 
and  a  horny  head  will  rise  for  a  moment,  sink,  and 
reappear  a  few  yards  nearer.  When  once  they  have 
been  collected  and  lie  at  the  water's  edge,  the  food 
is  thrown,  and  half-a-dozen  "muggers"  snap  at  the 
gory  morsels.  You  might  think  that  an  alligator  was 
an  unhefty  brute  until  one  of  them  rushes  the  ramp 
of  the  ghat  for  a  good  twelve  feet  and  snaps  its  jaws 
together,  a  yard  away  from  your  trouser  ends,  upon 
some  carelessly  dropped  lump  of  stringy  meat.  After 
all,  it  is  but  a  poor  substitute  for  an  erring  wife  :  the 
stomachs  of  the  older  brutes  are  full  of  glass  bangles. 

Yes,  one  has  only  to  scratch  Jaipur  to  realise 
that  the  modern  commercialism  and  dull  muni- 
cipal excellence  of  the  city  is  hardly  more  than  a 
veneer,  like  the  dust  which  lies  so  heavily. 

There  is  a  strange  charm  which  comes  out  at 
sunset  by  reason  of  this  very  mantle  of  drought 
made  visible.  An  hour  before  the  evening  falls, 


JAIPUR.  45 

one  wanders  through  wide  streets  that  become  mul- 
titudinous as  one  looks,  and  bright  with  colours  that 
only  Mandalay  of  all  places  in  the  world  can  hope 
to  rival.  Scarlet  and  orange  and  pink,  white,  yellow 
and  ochre,  greens  of  strange  virulence,  and  greens 
of  sad  restraint,  copper  and  flame  colour  and 
orpiment,  all  blend  themselves  unerringly  in  the 
tangled  skeins  of  colour  like  beds  of  salpiglossis  in 
an  English  garden.  Roadway  and  wide  pavement — 
a  rare  thing  in  the  East — are  filled  with  the  jostling 
throng  through  which  one  amazing  man  in  a  single 
robe  of  almost  phosphorescent  chartreuse — yellow 
and  green  mixed — makes  his  way,  changing  the 
colour  values  as  he  goes  from  group  to  group. 
Before  him  and  his  lambent  aureoline-green,  magenta 
becomes  mauve  and  sap-green  sage,  and  he  leaves 
behind  him  a  wake  of  mourning  hues. 

Here  comes  an  elephant,  going  delicately  in  fear  of 
his  own  bulk,  gently  scattering  and  sweeping 
humanity  aside  ;  there,  a  supercilious  and  shamble- 
quartered  camel ;  bullocks  grey,  dun,  and  white, 
with  horns  of  vermilion  or  myrtle  green  ;  a  blue- 
hooded  cheetah,  padding  nervously  along  beside  his 
master,  and  always  the  jolting  revolutions  of  ox- 
cart-wheels, innocent  of  tyre  or  axle-grease,  and 
patched  like  a  child's  box  of  bricks. 


46  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

The  raw  metal  jangle  of  the  temple  bells  sounds 
from  behind  the  rose-red  walls  of  lattice,  pillar, 
arch  and  balcony,  and  from  behind  the  ochreous 
plaster  curtains  of  different  planes,  machicolated, 
crenellated,  bracketed,  over  which  hangs  the  acacia 
which  finds  its  own  way  wherever  man  plants  an 
Eastern  plot  of  garden  soil. 

Here  and  there  a  circle  gathers  round  a  charmer 
or  a  story-teller,  but  the  city's  population  mostly 
move  quietly  forward  in  hooded  thousands,  as 
orderly  and  as  aimless  as  ever  was  a  church  parade 
in  the  Park,  a  kaleidoscope  of  moving  and  inter- 
twining colour.  Uncouth  feudal  retainers  of  the 
Maharaja,  as  strange  to  the  city  as  oneself,  blink- 
ingly  pick  their  way  along  the  streets,  dressed  in 
tarnished  chain-armour  or  quilted  suits  of  rusty 
crimson.  Nagas,  also  collected  here  on  perform- 
ance of  grand  serjeanty,  creep  in  twos  and  threes 
along  the  by-ways,  their  plumed  caps  and  two- 
handed  swords,  scabbardless  and  quivering  like  a 
flame,  stared  at  by  country  cousins  as  oddly  habited 
as  themselves.  Agate  and  apricot,  geranium  and 
garnet,  all  hues  of  red  float  past.  More  magnifi- 
cent than  all,  there  comes  an  elephant  fresh  painted 
for  to-morrow's  state,  in  geometrical  patterns  of 
magenta  green  and  yellow,  and  over  all  of  his  bulk, 


JAIPUR.  47 

a  huge  wrap  of  half-inch  cloth  of  gold  falls  like  a 
carpet  from  his  shoulder  to  his  feet.  But  he  is 
soon  lost  to  sight  in  the  gathering  dusk  and  dust, 
for  the  evening  has  come. 

Before  one  knows  it  the  nightly  mystery  of  the 
Indian  west  has  spread,  and  the  flaming  crimson 
curtain  hangs  behind  a  swaying  veil  of  what  no 
longer  looks  like  dust,  but  rather  a  gauze  through 
which  the  hardly  recognisable  shapes  distorted  in 
the  coloured  gloom  move  unsteadily  to  and  fro. 
Mountainous  bundles,  stalks  of  millet  or  of  maize, 
move  forward  of  their  own  motion,  betrayed  only 
by  the  whining  protest  of  the  hidden  wheels, 
obscuring,  as  they  pass,  the  little  fires  which  dot 
the  pavements,  each  burning  high  and  clear  as 
the  red  daylight  dies. 

The  colours  vanish  in  the  veil  of  fire-opal  red 
that  blinds  and  blends  all  edges  and  all  hues.  Only, 
straight  above  one,  is  the  sky  still  blue,  though  there, 
too,  the  shafts  of  amethyst  are  striking  home.  The 
dinner  fires  gleam  brightly  and  well  against  the 
drifting  clouds  of  whitened  and  half-translucent 
smoke,  but  two  shades  deeper  than  the  mist  itself. 
The  dust  sways  and  glides  in  coloured  lines,  and 
the  sharp  aromatic  smell  of  burning  acacia  mingles 
with  the  bitterness  of  the  dust  in  the  nostrils. 


48  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Dust,  indeed,  it  is  no  longer.  It  is  the  glory  of 
Jaipur.  Not  for  the  clearest  view  on  earth  would 
one  exchange  the  panorama  of  misty,  white,  wood- 
fed  flames  beside  the  roads,  and  the  hardly  seen 
staging  of  Oriental  lattice  and  verandah  which 
now  and  then  frames  a  silhouetted  figure  in  a  door- 
way. The  suspended  splendour  of  the  sky  sinks 
for  a  moment,  only  to  rise  again  with  that  inex- 
plicable volcanic  after-glow  which  just  now  supplies 
the  self-appointed  augurs  of  the  bazaar  with 
material  for  dismal  forebodings  of  death  and  pesti- 
lence and  flight  before  the  enemy — all  due,  needless 
to  say,  to  the  strange  tenderness  of  the  Englishman 
for  the  useless  girl  babies  that  come  in  such  numbers 

to  the  struggling  Rajput.     "  In  my  day ,"  but 

he  is  a  known  liar,  and  the  story  dies  away  on 
his  lips.  The  crowd  seems  to  sink  into  the  ground 
again,  and  the  loneliness  of  the  road  which  runs 
out  westward  to  the  Residency  is  emphasised  as 
tree  after  tree  swings  by  in  silence,  save  for  its  load 
of  shrill  cicadas  grinding  their  knives  in  every 
bough,  and  the  never  ending  refrain  of  the  frogs — 
for  all  the  world  like  the  sound  of  a  stone  thrown 
ricocheting  along  thin  English  ice — taken  up  from 
dry  pond  to  dry  pond  beside  the  darkening  track. 


49 


Delhi. 


DELHI,  the  mistress  of  every  conqueror  of  India, 
Aryan  or  Afghan,  Persian,  English  or  Mogul, 
remains  unconquered  still.  Over  twenty  square 
miles  of  sun-baked  plain  lie  out  the  debris  of  her 
many  pasts,  relics  of  her  dead  and  gone  masters, 
some  perfect  still,  some  once  more  crumbling 
back  into  the  levels  of  red-yellow  marl  that  have 
alternately  fed  and  housed,  and  fed  and  housed 
again  forgotten  generations  of  men.  Yet  Delhi 
lives.  Like  some  huge  crustacean,  she  has  shed 
behind  her  her  own  outgrown  habitations,  as  she 
has  crawled  northwards  from  Tughlakabad  and 
Lalkot,  through  Dinpana  and  Ferozabad,  till  the 
long,  red  lizard  of  the  Ridge  barred  her  way,  and 
now  she  suns  herself,  a  raffle  of  narrow  and  con- 
gested byways,  beneath  the  crimson  walls  of  Shah 
Jehan's  great  palace-fort.  But  Delhi  is  more  than 
her  streets  and  temples.  You  may  go  round  about 
her  and  count  her  towers  ;  you  may  tramp  from 

4 


So  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

the  Jumna  Mas] id  to  the  Fort,  from  the  Fort  to 
the  Pillar,  from  the  Pillar  to  Humaion's  Tomb 
and  the  great  Minar ;  and  when  all  is  seen  you 
will  understand  that  these  things  do  no  honour  to 
Delhi ;  it  is  Delhi  that  doubles  their  signifi- 
cance, and  that  of  all  that  is  found  within  her 
wide  borders.  Inscrutable  and  undeniable,  her 
claim  is  different  from  that  of  all  other  towns 
of  India,  for  she  has  no  rival  in  greatness  from 
the  mountains  to  the  sea,  and  all  men  know  that 
whoso  holds  Delhi  holds  India.  A  wide  and  almost 
waste  plain  stretches  along  the  eastern  bank  of 
a  sandy  expanse  of"  river-bed.  In  the  far  distance 
low  violet  hills  hem  in  the  horizon,  and  almost 
every  acre  of  the  plain  between  the  river  and  the 
hills  bears  its  own  monument  of  Delhi's  bygone 
days.  In  among  the  tangles  of  thorn-bush  and 
mimosa,  where  no  living  thing  passes  by  save  a 
wandering  buffalo  or  the  shadow  of  a  kite 
wheeling  high  up  in  the  sun,  the  walls  and 
terraces  of  deserted  temples  crumble,  and  the 
white  datura  or  the  raw  yellow  acacia  flourishes 
beside  the  altar  stones.  Here  and  there  an  arch 
springs  forty  feet  to  where  a  bird-borne  pipal- 
plant  slowly  threatens  a  lingering  keystone, 
and  an  azure-necked  peacock  scratches  among 


DELHI.  $1 

the  rotting  stumps  of  last  year's  self-sown  Indian 
corn. 

Beyond  the  hard  white  shaded  road— the  only 
serviceable  and  well-kept  thing  in  all  the  land- 
scape— rises  in  a  garden  the  dome  of  an  osten- 
tatious tomb.  Some  servant  of  an  Emperor,  some 
Emperor  himself  it  may  be,  who  sleeps  soundly 
in  his  grave,  all  unconscious  that  the  city  he  be- 
lieved so  abiding  and  so  loyal  has  drifted  far  from 
him  and  his  all-powerful  dynasty,  and  now  darkens 
the  northward  sky  with  the  smoke  of  factory 
chimneys,  and  of  locomotives  straining  across  the 
iron-bridged  Jumna.  Far  away  to  the  south  still 
stands  the  shaft  raised  by  the  slave-emperor  from 
Turkestan,  and  underneath  it  the  iron  pillar  of 
an  earlier  "  conqueror  of  the  universe "  bears 
witness  yet  to  its  Royal  maker's  foolishness. 
Tughlakabad,  hard  by,  is  given  over  to  the  jackal 
and  the  cobra  and  the  owl — the  very  bats  have 
found  in  it  no  ceiling  for  their  foul  nestings. 
Lalkot  lies  a  weed-grown  fold  of  scattered  half- 
hewn  stone  and  mud ;  it  needs  an  antiquarian  to 
guess  where  here  and  there  a  gate  may  once  have 
pierced  the  vaunted  fortifications  of  old.  In- 
draprastha  is  there  still,  but  she  has  given  up 
the  struggle  against  fate,  and  her  cornices  and 

4* 


52  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

parapets   fall   unheeded   across   her   exits   and   her 
entrances.     Only   the   Grand  Trunk  Road  endures 
between  and  beneath  the  shadows  of  the  heavy 
banyans  above,   whose  leaves   are  whitened  daily 
by    the    dust-shuffling    bullock-carts,  just  as  when 
Shah  Jehan's  vast  equipage  trailed  slowly  in  to  his 
new  capital  from  that  old  one,  which  had  become  a 
burden  upon  his  heart  too  heavy  for  him  to  bear. 
A  few  minarets  have  pierced  the  skyline  for  some 
time,  but  as  one  follows  along  its  clear  metalled 
strip,  Delhi  itself — Delhi,  that  is,  of  to-day — rises 
flat  and  uncomely  behind  her  long,  low,  fortified 
and    battlemented    walls.     Outside,    the    glacis    is 
clear,   save  for  a  few  yellow-flowered  bebels  and 
a  crumbling  chaitya  or  two  ;    inside  there  is  the 
well-remembered  jostle  and  stench  of  every  native 
quarter   of    the   East,   and    so   through   eight-foot 
thoroughfares    below    jutting    eaves    and,    rarely, 
dirty  balconies,  one  reaches  the  one  great  street 
that  cleaves  the  town  in  halves,  the  famous  Chandni 
Chauk. 

Meagre,  ramshackle  houses — one-storeyed,  and 
plastered  with  torn  paper,  their  dirty  blue  paint 
smeared  over  decayed  whitewash — lean  one  against 
the  other,  and  expose  on  their  vermin-haunted 
walls  and  raised  floors  cheap  European  goods  or 


DELHI.  53 

trays  of  fly-blown  native  sweets,  bowls  of  chillies 
or  onions,  framed  oleographs  of  gods  or  English 
princes,  American  nickel  clocks,  or  scrap-iron  heaps. 
In  between  them  some  brick  and  mortar  missionary 
station  puts  out  its  nigh-hopeless  appeal,  or  some 
native  chemist  advertises  his  willingness  to  practise 
indifferently  the  medical  system  of  either  East  or 
West.  But  the  real  shops  of  the  "  Silver  Street  " 
are  those  which  make  little  show  to  the  public  eye. 
You  can  hardly  believe  that  those  unpretentious 
little  cabins,  where  the  scarlet-teethed  shopmen  in 
alpaca  coats  smile  upon  you  as  you  pass,  have  within 
call  half  the  jewels  of  India.  Down  the  middle  of 
the  Chandni  Chauk  runs  a  line  of  branching  banyans 
—such  as  Tavernier  found  useful  in  his  trade,  for 
he  says  that  one  can  judge  the  water  of  a  diamond 
best  in  the  dappled  shade  of  a  leafy  tree — their 
trunks  all  mud  below  where  the  bhisti  sprinkles, 
all  dust  above,  and  at  the  end  of  them,  across  the 
burnt  grass  of  the  Maidan,  rise  the  dusty  crimson 
walls  of  the  fort. 

There  is  much  for  a  man  to  see  in  Delhi ;  there 
is  even  more  waiting  for  him  to  understand.  One 
might  set  him  with  muffled  feet  upon  the  gigantic 
courtyard  of  the  Great  Mosque  or  the  blinding 
white  marble  of  the  dainty  Moti  Mas j  id ;  one 


54  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

might  take  him  day  after  day  to  temples  and  halls 
of  audience,  and  baths ;  there  are  crumbling 
memorials  of  the  Mutiny  for  him  to  see ;  Hindu 
Rao's  house,  the  Kashmir  gate  beneath  which  some 
still  salute  dead  Home  and  Salkeld  as  they  pass, 
and  the  tree-encumbered  sites  of  redoubt  and 
battery ;  for  those  who  pick  the  worm-holes  of 
long- vanished  days  there  is  Asoka's  pillar  ;  there 
is  the  already  over-grown  site  of  the  great  Durbar, 
for  those  whose  interests  are  of  to-day.  But 
among  all  these  things  two  stand  out  significant. 
One  of  them  is  the  Diwan-i-khas,  or  private  throne- 
room,  of  the  palace  in  the  fort. 

It  is  an  open  hall,  supported  on  a  double  row 
of  many-cusped  arches,  daintily  gilded  here  and 
there,  and  of  heavy  square  columns,  panelled 
and  inlaid,  of  marble,  here  white,  here  ivory,  there 
old  gold  in  tint.  One  could  swear  that  this  forest 
of  marble  is  translucent.  The  gilding  upon  it 
here  and  there  stands  forward  and  rejects  the  light 
that  sinks  softly  into  the  onyx-like  stone,  upon 
which  it  is  laid.  And  the  inlaid  flowers,  whereof 
every  leaf  is  jade  and  malachite,  every  petal  is 
agate  and  lapis  lazuli,  so  stand  out  upon  this  pearly 
bed  that  you  might  vow  you  could  put  your  fingers 
behind  the  stalk  and  snap  it.  You  will  not  at 


DELHI.  55 

first  understand  the  beauty  and  splendid  restraint 
of  the  Diwan-i-khas ;  if  you  try  four  afternoons 
to  sketch  you  may  begin  to  realise  that  Austin 
de  Bordeaux,  a  dishonest  and  fugitive  jeweller 
from  France,  may  yet  prove  to  have  been  the 
first  decorator  of  all  known  periods — decorator,  not 
artist,  nor  perhaps  architect,  the  point  is  in  dis- 
pute. Quiet,  restrained,  his  riot  of  colour  spreads 
over  these  jewelled  walls  unfailing  in  taste,  and 
perfect  to  the  veining  of  a  poppy-leaf  or  the  stamen 
of  one  of  those  Crown  Imperial  lilies  or  blue-purple 
irises  which  his  craftsmen  never  looked  upon,  though 
at  the  bidding  of  this  immoral  genius  they  faithfully 
translated  into  stone  the  humbled  pride  of  the  one 
and  the  cool  transparency  of  the  other.  Everywhere 
the  design  is  both  natural  and  conventional,  and 
the  harmony  of  this  vast  and  transcendent  casket 
for  the  Peacock  Throne  deserves  the  famous  Persian 
inscription,  "  If  heaven  be  anywhere  on  earth, 
it  is  here,  it  is  here,  it  is  here."  Outside  there  is 
hot  sunshine,  the  blaze  of  a  scarlet  hybiscus  across 
the  lawn,  and  the  soft  and  stealing  scent  of  jasmine 
and  orange-blossom. 

The  Peacock  Throne — of  which  Lord  Curzon 
has  disinterred  in  the  treasure-house  of  Teheran 
a  noble  fragment  far  finer  than  the  Takt-i-taus 


56  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

which  is  generally  shown  to  visitors  as  part  of  the 
spoils  of  Nadir  Shah — was  of  gold.  But  the  gold 
was  scarcely  visible  for  the  rubies,  diamonds,  and 
sapphires,  close  set  from  end  to  end  of  the  long 
low  seat.  A  peacock  "  in  his  pride "  stood 
behind  at  either  end,  and  formed  between  them 
the  greater  part  of  the  back.  These  two  were  of 
precious  stones,  only,  I  think,  larger  than  those 
used  in  the  seat.  Also  a  parrot  ensigned  the 
centre  of  the  back  of  the  throne — the  bird  was 
cut  from  one  single  emerald.  These  statements 
appear  to  be  the  plain  truth  about  the  most  mag- 
nificent jewel  ever  made  on  earth.  They  would  be 
incredible  had  not,  luckily,  a  French  professional 
jeweller  seen  the  throne  before  it  was  stolen  by 
Nadir  Shah  in  1739  and  partly  broken  up. 
Tavernier  has  left  not  only  a  description  of  the 
gorgeous  thing,  but  an  expert's  estimate  of  its 
value — about  £12,037,500  sterling,  if  expressed  in 
to-day's  currency.  We  have  the  casket  of  this 
jewel  in  the  Diwan-i-khas,  and  it  is  worthy  of  that 
royal  seat,  even  if  the  latter's  beauty  was  equal 
to  its  cost.  And  in  the  Diwan-i-khas  we  have 
also  the  keynote  and  coping-stone  of  the  policy 
of  the  Mogul  dynasty  of  India. 

But  there  is  another  thing  to  be  seen  in  Delhi. 


• 


A  corner  of  the 


•    *  ? J 


[Pacing page  $6.  ' 


DELHI.  57 

Outside  the  battered  Kashmir  gate,  whereto  leans 
the  plain  stone  which  commemorates  Home  and 
Salkeld,  is  a  stretch  of  uneven  grass  cut  into  by 
a  diverging  road.  Across  that,  a  little  rise  takes 
one  through  the  cemetery  gates,  adjoining  the  squat 
lodge  of  the  keeper,  up  to  a  railed-off  tomb  under- 
neath a  neem-tree.  Inside  there  is  a  flat  stone, 
with  these  words  upon  it  :  "  The  grave  of  Brigadier 
General  John  Nicholson,  who  led  the  assault  of 
Delhi,  but  fell  in  the  hour  of  victory,  mortally 
wounded  ;  and  died  23rd  September,  1857  :  aged 
35."  There  have  been  many  lives  worth  living 
in  the  last  hundred  years,  but  few  indeed  are  fit 
to  set  beside  John  Nicholson's.  There  have  been 
many  deaths  worth  dying,  but  surely  none  since 
Nelson's  that  compares  with  his.  Two  men  in 
two  centuries  regained  India  for  us  at  the  eleventh 
hour  as  she  was  slipping  from  our  very  fingers' 
ends.  One — Clive — has  long  been  forgotten  ;  in 
all  the  length  of  this  statue-laden  country  there 
is  not  a  bust  or  a  tablet  to  him.  Twopenny- 
ha'penny  administrators,  banded  about  with  ribands, 
have  had  their  brazen  tributes  in  every  corner  of 
India,  while  Clive,  perhaps  because  he  took  his 
own  life,  still  awaits  his  recognition.  For  his 
memorial,  when  it  shall  come,  one  is  tempted  to 


58  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

suggest  "  circumspice  "  once  again  as  the  only  but 
sufficient  record  of  his  work.  Of  John  Nicholson 
it  can  hardly  be  said  that  he  has  been  forgotten,  for 
in  England  he  has  never  been  recognised  at  all, 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  out  here  in  India  the 
money  for  the  statue  that  is  even  now  being  raised 
at  Delhi  in  his  honour,  has  come  from  such  a 
variety  of  admirers  that  one  is  reminded  of  the 
austere  administrator's  popularity  while  he  lived 
even  among  the  very  tribes  whose  women  scared 
their  children  into  quietness  with  the  mere  name  of 
"Jan  Nikasain."  For  English  rule  in  India  John 
Nicholson  stands  just  as  the  gold  and  emeralds 
and  marble  of  the  Diwan-i-khas  stand  for  the 
Mogul  and  his  ideals. 

But  if  there  still  survive  a  spirit  of  that  dead 
and  splendid  dynasty,  it  does  but  breathe  in  the 
night  wind  that  stirs  the  dead  grasses  along  the 
Campagna  of  bygone  Delhi,  while  Nicholson's  ghost 
walks  visibly  abroad  wherever  sound  and  unselfish 
work  is  done  by  the  lowest  sahib-servant  of  this 
huge  and  helpless  people  entrusted  to  our  care. 


59 


Lahore. 


FRESH  gardens  and  heavy  trees  beside  well-kept 
roads,  cool  houses,  and  an  upstanding  English 
cathedral,  dispersed  over  four  square  miles  of 
ground,  and  beside  the  Mall  the  bitter  smell  and 
silence  of  a  tan  gallop.  Offices  there  are,  too,  for 
the  Punjab  Government,  roomy,  and  adequate ; 
hospitals  and  colleges,  institutes  and  horticultural 
gardens — all  that  makes  for  contentment  and  effi- 
ciency in  Anglo-Indian  life,  gathered  loosely  over 
the  flat  between  the  curbed  Ravi  and  the  curving 
parallels  of  the  great  Bari  Doab  Canal.  Thrust 
tightly  into  one  upper  corner  of  this  city  of  dis- 
tances and  spaces,  and  nudging  it  uncertainly  in 
half  a  dozen  places,  are  the  crooked  elbows  of  the 
densely-packed  native  town.  Beyond  that,  again, 
overlooking  the  wooded  level  to  the  north,  an  in- 
hospitable bulk  of  red  sandstone  rises,  sign  unmis- 
takable of  yet  another  of  the  palace  fortresses  of 
the  Moguls — this  is  Lahore, 


6o  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

In  Lahore  Akbar's  shrewd  judgment  selected  a 
green  oasis  among  the  then  unfertile  lands  of  the 
five  rivers,  and  to  him  much  of  all  the  imperial  mag- 
nificence of  the  city  and  palace  is  due.  Yet,  truth 
to  tell,  it  comes  to  most  travellers  too  late  in  their 
path.  Agra  and  Delhi  have  corne  before  it,  and 
there  is  nothing  in  all  the  place  to  equal  the  dreamy 
perfection  of  the  one  or  the  costly  splendour  of  the 
other.  Only  Akbar's  huge  gateway,  with  its  en- 
caustic tiles,  strikes  a  note  of  originality,  and  the 
idle  dreamer  might  spend  an  afternoon  in  piecing 
together  from  this  strange  and  inconsequent  series 
of  figures  of  beasts  and  flowers  and  men  and  angels 
some  key  to  that  most  elusive  of  all  Oriental  cha- 
racters, Akbar  himself.  It  is  commonly  said  that 
one  of  the  strait,  stiff  figures  on  the  walls  is  no 
other  than  that  of  the  Virgin  Mary  herself,  and  the 
suggestion  is  likely  enough.  Certainly  Akbar's 
acquaintance  with  the  Christianity  of  the  Portu- 
guese missionaries  of  Goa  is  proved.  It  is  also 
clear  that  the  priests  were  allowed  some  access  to 
Murad  and  Jehangir,*  his  sons,  and  his  Hall  of 
Universal  Worship  at  Fatehpur  Sikri  was  almost 
American  in  its  catholic  tolerance.  But  it  is  difficult 


*  Upon  the  walls  also  of  Jehangir's  adjoining  palace  Bernier  says  that  an  image 
of  the  Virgin  was  set  up,  but  it  is  impossible  to  trace  it  now. 


AHMED A 


LAHORE.  61 

to  disentangle  fact  and  fiction  in  Oriental  history 
as   soon   as   religion   is  brought  into   the   dispute. 
Indeed,  the  well-known  legend  that  Akbar  had  a 
Christian   wife — one   Maria,    a   Portuguese   maiden 
from  Goa — seems  to  rest  on  the  prejudiced  inter- 
pretations of  the  missionaries  of  a  later  generation. 
Still,  the  man  remains  one  of  the  enigmas  of  history, 
and  in  this  hotch-potch   of   ornament  it  is  a  plea- 
sant fancy  that  he  may  have  had  the  whim  to  sym- 
bolise to  himself  his  own  infinitely  varied  interests, 
sympathies,    and    perhaps,    if    one    had    the    clue, 
one  might  trace  some  of  the  vicissitudes  also  of 
his  strange  career. 

But  the  thread  of  personal  self-confidence  runs 
all  through  his  life.  He  asked  no  man  to  do  what 
he  would  not,  and  could  not,  do  himself.  He 
once  relieved  Ahmedabad  with  a  not  inconsider- 
able force  of  cavalry,  and  kept  up  the  speed  of 
eighty  miles  a  day.  On  another  occasion  he  out- 
rode completely  the  Ghent  to  Aix  legend  by 
reaching  Ajmere  from  Agra,  a  distance  of  two 
hundred  and  twenty  miles,  in  forty-eight  hours. 
This  he  did  for  his  own  exercise  and  amusement, 
afterwards  repeating  the  pilgrimage  on  foot  in 
order  to  obtain  a  son  and  heir.  In  quiet  days, 
lest  he  should  wax  rusty  and  luxurious,  he  exe- 


62  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

cuted  a  Domesday  Book  of  his  territories.  His 
income  was  £52,000,000  a  year,  all  of  which  was 
available  for  his  ambitions.  Consider  his  action  at 
Fatehpur  Sikri.  To  be  with  his  teacher,  the 
Sheikh  Chisti,  he  builds  a  vast  new  palace-fort, 
new  temples,  and  a  new  town  round  the  hermit's 
lonely  cell.  He  invites  the  learned  of  all  religions 
to  argue  and  dispute  in  his  presence,  and  then,  in 
the  midst  of  this  new  prosperity,  at  a  word  of 
complaint  from  his  religious  friend  about  the  noise 
that  his  city  brought  round  his  sequestered  cell, 
gave  orders,  and  Fatehpur  Sikri  became  again 
as  Nineveh,  save  that  the  clean  chisel-marks  may 
yet  be  seen  upon  the  palace  jambs  and  cornices. 
Certainly  a  man  of  decision  and  self-reliance. 

There  is  a  certain  suitability  in  remembering  the 
theological  experiments  of  Akbar  in  this  his  capital 
of  Lahore.  For  to-day  also  here  is  the  centre  of 
religious  activity  in  the  northern  half  of  India,  and 
even  a  slight  acquaintance  with  the  town  must 
convince  a  visitor  that  if  only  for  this  reason  the 
atmosphere  of  Lahore  is,  and  must  remain,  different 
from  that  of  other  places.  This  is  not  the  time 
or  place  to  awaken  the  ever-vexed  question  of 
the  success  or  failure  of  missionary  effort  among 
the  races  and  castes  of  Hindustan.  But  it  should 


Kim  on  Zam-Zammah.  *  •"* 


[Facing  page  62. 


LAHORE.  63 

in  fairness  be  remembered  that  Lahore  offers  the 
best  example  of  such  work — work  that,  to  its  ever- 
lasting honour,  concerns  itself  almost  as  mightily 
with  the  bodies  as  with  the  souls  of  the  natives, 
whose  confidence  and  gratitude  have  long  been 
won.  Akbar  himself,  it  is  to  be  borne  in  mind, 
was  the  founder  of  a  religion  which  seems  to  have 
been  a  worship  of  Brahma  or  God  the  Creator,  so 
basic  and  bold  as  to  have  been  stripped  of  all  but 
the  enunciation  of  this  one  aboriginal  article  of 
faith.  Upon  this  austere  framework  he  then  per- 
mitted all  other  sects  to  weave  at  will  the  distin- 
guishing creeds  and  dogmas  of  their  choice.  It  was 
thus  unnecessary  and,  indeed,  difficult  to  exclude 
from  this  over-universal  church  any  faith  that  cared 
to  emphasise  its  somewhat  postulated  belief  in 
a  First  Cause.  Perhaps  for  that  very  reason, 
because  there  was  so  little  with  which  to  disagree, 
so  little  about  which  to  suffer  martyrdom,  Akbar 's 
great  scheme  was  doomed  to  failure,  dying  for  sheer 
want  of  opposition.  But  as  a  bold  attempt  on  the 
part  of  the  greatest  reformer,  administrator,  and 
despot  of  India,  it  has  hardly  received  the  attention 
that  it  deserves,  especially  at  this  moment,  when 
education  and  religion  seem  likely  to  come  to  a  com- 
promise upon  a  highest  common  factor  not  wholly 


64  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

different    from    that   which   underlay   the    faith   of 

Akbar. 

In  his  large  industry,  capricious  energy,  auto- 
cratic methods,  and  confidence  that  he  was  in 
the  personal  confidence  of  God,  the  Emperor 
has  his  parallel  in  Germany  to-day.  Flaring 
upon  the  western  pier  of  the  gigantic  gateway 
of  the  mosque  at  Fatehpur  Sikri  is  the  saying  of 
Jesus  Christ  of  Nazareth  :  "  This  world  is  as  a 
bridge.  Pass  on,  there  is  no  tarrying  here."  Yet 
Akbar  was  far  from  being  untouched  by  worldly 
pomps,  as  his  slightest  building  testifies,  and  one 
is  inclined  to  believe  that  he  was  well  aware  of  the 
ambiguity  of  the  war-cry  of  his  new  faith.  "  Allahu- 
Akbar"  means  either  that  God  is  great  or  that 
Akbar  is  God,  and  neither  meaning  was  probably 
ever  absent  from  his  mind ;  nay,  on  one  grim 
occasion,  he  felt  the  blasphemy,  and  retreated  in 
confusion  from  the  pulpit  whence  he  was  intoning 
his  own  creed. 

In  old  days,  before  the  creation  of  the  North- West 
Frontier  province,  great  was  the  pride  of  the 
Punjab  ;  great  in  its  own  estimation  was  Lahore. 
There  has  been  a  fall,  and  the  rest  of  the 
peninsula  shows  little  sympathy  with  this  much 
and  deservedly  lauded  home  of  municipal  ad- 


LAHORE.  65 

ministration.  Its  "  C.  and  M.  Gazette" — foster  sister 
to  the  fine  old  <c  Pioneer  "  —has  done  its  best,  but 
the  old  glory  is  departed.  There  are  many  who 
regret  the  manner  of  her  deposition :  the  act  was 
inevitable.  The  truth  is  that  its  interests  have 
become  provincial  rather  than  national,  and  that, 
as  in  the  case  of  Madras,  has  sounded  the  death- 
knell  of  its  old  half -romantic  attractiveness.  Its 
frontier  importance  was  the  framework  of  its  old 
pretensions,  and  now  that  that  has  been  taken 
away  there  is  as  little  and  as  much  to  fill  out  the 
garments  of  her  past  greatness  as  there  is  in  the 
case  of  Madras.  The  administrative  work  is  done 
equally  well  in  both  provinces.  Indeed,  for  ad- 
ministrative models,  India  now  turns  rather  to 
Madras  than  to  Lahore,  for  in  the  jealous  eyes  of 
other  districts,  even  this  supremacy  is  departing 
from  the  northern  city.  But  Lahore  still  holds  a 
high  head.  All  India  smiled  a  year  or  two  ago. 
An  inscription  had  to  be  framed  for  the  memorial 
to  William  Brendish,  the  telegraph  clerk,  whose 
fidelity  to  his  post  while  Delhi  roared  and  mur- 
dered in  the  streets  without  needs  no  retelling  here 
"  The  electric  telegraph  saved  India/'  Montgomery's 
verdict  is  on  the  record,  but  the  good  folk  of 
Lahore  put  on  the  memorial  this  artless  ascription 

5 


66  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

of  credit,  that  Brendish  had  "  rendered  invaluable 
service  to  the  Punjab  Government."  To  this  day 
few  in  Lahore  outside  the  office  of  the  "  Civil  and 
Military "  have  seen  the  humour  of  this. 

For  the  rest,  Lahore  and  its  picturesque  variety 
of  construction,  material,  and  style  is  like  enough 
to  any  other  North  Indian  city,  like  in  the  crowded 
sea  of  humanity  in  her  streets,  like  in  the  passing 
interest  evoked  by  the  shrine  of  a  saint,  the  tomb 
of  a  courtier,  or  one  of  those  random  mosques  that 
so  often  took  the  place  of  conscience-money  in  the 
East,  like  in  the  dainty  legends  of  love  or  hate, 
of  the  favour  of  a  king,  or  the  jealousy  of  a  woman, 
that  mesh  in  every  gathering  of  human  habitations 
in  royal  India.  Ranjit  Singh  is  buried  here,  and 
with  him  the  eleven  Court  ladies  who  passed  alive 
through  the  fiery  gate  with  his  dead  body.  The 
armoury  distinguishes  the  fort  from  others,  and 
a  trace  of  especial  interest  attaches  to  the  French 
accoutrements  which  tells  a  tale  of  long-vanished 
ambitions.  Here,  also,  is  the  identical  sword  with 
which  the  first  great  Guru  founded  the  Sikh  re- 
ligion. The  latter  may  also,  I  believe,  be  seen  in 
the  treasury  of  the  Golden  Temple  at  Amritsar. 

I  have  kept  to  the  last  the  central  interest  of 
Lahore.  The  museum  treasures,  among  which  the 


LAHORE.  67 

Lama  of  Such-zen  discussed  the  Way  with  the 
white-bearded  Englishman,  remain  for  the  anti- 
quarian, the  traveller,  and  the  historian  one  of 
the  fascinating  enigmas  of  India.  They  are  now 
housed  in  a  new  and  spacious  building,  and  all  down 
the  long  gallery  and  on  either  side  the  close-set 
relics  stand  side  by  side.  Strange  memorials  are 
they  of  the  day  when  two  empires,  Buddhism  and 
Hellenism,  met  and  mingled  where  three  empires 
now  meet  but  never  mingle — nay,  they  draw, 
instead,  painfully  exact  lines  of  division  and  dis- 
like. Greek  in  all  but  name,  these  full-rounded 
faces  and  royally  posed  heads  surmount  drapery 
such  as  India  could  never  hang.  It  is  a  tale  that 
has  not  yet  been  told  in  full,  this  slow  reception 
of  the  exiles  of  a  defeated  and  expelled  faith,  by 
frontiersmen,  exiles  themselves,  in  whom  no  luxury 
or  pride  had  betrayed  the  tradition  of  Pheidias  and 
his  school.  Nowhere  in  the  world  is  Buddhism  por- 
trayed so  finely  as  in  these  stones.  For  the  essential 
and  tranquil  quietism  of  the  Master's  creed  lost 
nothing  and  gained  humanity  in  the  hands  of  men 
whose  forefathers  carved  the  Venus  of  Milo  or  the 
Demeter  of  the  British  Museum.  Both  exiles  and 
hosts  among  these  Himalayan  barriers  of  the  north 
had  relearned  in  hard  life  and  forced  renunciation 

5* 


68  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

some  portion  of  those  primitive  truths  that  were 
so  quickly  swamped  in  the  laziness  and  easy  living 
of  the  plains  from  which  each  had  originally 
come. 

Nor  is  this  all  their  interest  for  us.  These 
blackened,  sharply-cut  stones,  still  showing  chisel 
marks,  if  you  look  for  them,  are  all,  or  nearly  all, 
that  is  left  of  Buddhism  in  India,  in  the  land  of  its 
birth  ;  all,  at  least,  that  can  connectedly,  and  with 
wealth  of  example,  retell  the  story  of  the  Light  of 
Asia  scene  by  scene  and  triumph  by  triumph. 
These  carvings  have  been  collected  by  many  hands 
along  the  frontier.  They  were  rescued  from  the 
neglect  of  those  who  follow  a  creed  different  indeed 
from  that  of  the  Master,  and  it  is  well  that  they 
are  gathered  here  together,  for  even  now,  many 
years  after  the  discovery  of  most  of  the  statues, 
a  scholar  would  have  to  take  his  life  in  his  hand 
were  he  to  re-visit  the  hill-villages  from  which 
they  came.  There  are  still  many  places  teeming 
with  Grseco-Buddhist  treasures,  but  the  Lahore 
collection  is  so  rich,  indeed  so  sated  with  duplicates, 
that  one  may  almost  regard  this  collection  as  com- 
plete for  most  necessary  purposes.  And  we  owe 
it  all  to  that  white-bearded  Englishman,  no  other 
than  Mr.  Lockwood  Kipling,  that  we  have  these 


LAHORE.  69 

treasures  safely  housed  in  Lahore.  For  it  is  a 
mistake  to  suppose  that  Indian  officials,  even 
to-day,  care  much  for  the  archaeology  of  their 
district.  There  are  exceptions,  of  course,  Lord 
Curzon,  while  viceroy,  being  himself  the  chief, 
but,  in  old  days,  it  needed  strength  and  courage, 
as  well  as  knowledge  and  taste,  to  foster  the  unique 
collection  which,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  remains 
the  real  treasure  of  the  capital  of  the  province  of 
the  Five  Great  Rivers  of  Hindustan.  Nay,  these 
half  prehistoric  relics  will  be  of  scant  interest  to 
many  travellers  as  well.  So  let  them  take  garries 
and  drive  six  miles  out  to  the  marble  pavilions 
and  exquisitely  confined  waters  of  the  Shalimar 
Gardens. 


The  Khyber. 


FOR  one  thousand  five  hundred  miles  from  its  source 
on  the  right  bank  of  the  Hugli,  thirty  miles  north 
of  Calcutta,  the  Grand  Trunk  Road  unfolds  its  thin, 
shadow-flecked  ribbon  of  white  metal  across  the 
heart  of  India.  By-Gaya,  Benares,  Delhi,  Amritsar, 
and  Lahore,  on  to  the  gates  of  far-distant  Pesha- 
war, beyond  the  ken  of  the  farthest  surveyor  of  the 
engineers  of  Aurangzeb,  the  track  strikes  fairly 
across  the  densest  populations  of  the  peninsula. 
Nay,  on  through  the  pass  itself  it  is  but  the  Grand 
Trunk  Road  that  has  been  carried  on  yet  another 
stage.  A  hundred  yards  beyond  the  fort  of  Landi 
Kotal,  the  Khyber  witnesses  the  extinction  of  the 
most  historic  highway  of  the  East,  and  up  to  the  last 
rod  of  it  the  great  trail  is  worthy  of  its  reputation. 

It  was  well  enough  said  the  other  day  that 
nothing,  however  important,  in  the  internal  ad- 
ministration of  India  can  ever  hope  to  rival  in 
interest  the  frontier  questions — those  eternal  prob- 


The  Shall  mar  Gardens,  Lahore. 


The  End  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Road,  beyond  Landi  Kotal. 

\Facing page  70. 


THE   KHYBER.  71 

lems  symbolised  by  the  golden  roofs  of  Lhasa  and 
the  grim  defiles  of  the  Khyber.  It  is  all  the  less 
accountable,  therefore,  that  there  hardly  exists, 
for  anyone  who  has  not  actually  visited  the  spot, 
any  very  clear  idea  of  the  famous  cleft  in  the  Hima- 
layas through  which  the  thin  trickle  of  merchandise 
ebbs  and  flows  between  India  and  the  North,  and 
on  which  so  many  years  of  hard  military  work 
and  close  political  thought  have  been  concentrated. 
India — the  remark  is  a  platitude — so  far  as  the 
passage  of  large  bodies  of  troops  is  concerned,  is 
an  island  except  for  this  scanty  line  of  communica- 
tion, and  upon  the  safe  keeping  of  the  Khyber 
and  its  auxiliaries,  most  of  the  Indian  military 
strategy  of  fifty  years  has  been  pivoted. 

Out  from  Peshawar  one  goes  along  the  hard, 
grey,  enamelled  track,  past  the  gardens  and  trees 
of  the  cantonment,  which  appears  to  be  peaceful, 
even  beyond  the  ordinary  stagnation  of  these 
deceptive  enclaves  of  military  control.  Nothing 
could  prepare  one  less  for  what  is  to  come  than 
the  luxurious  growth  of  close-grown  tolly,  umbra- 
geous banyan,  and  dusty-spined  casuarina,  over- 
hanging the  low  white-washed  walls  that  divide 
the  compounds  and  the  coarsely-grassed  lawns 
from  the  roadway.  Grass  is  the  trouble  of  Indian 


72  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

gardens.  There  is  a  stretch  or  two  at  Calcutta  and 
at  Agra  ;  lawns  are  encouraged  to  continue  to  live 
round  Akbar's  tomb  and  the  Taj,  but  it  is  all  rather 
a  pretence,  and  Lord  Kitchener,  at  the  Pindi 
manoeuvres  last  year,  boldly  faced  the  fact  that 
turf — as  opposed  to  grass — is  an  exotic,  and  bought 
instead  twenty  hundredweight  of  mustard  and  cress 
seed  to  make  the  little  plot  of  his  great  encampment 
green  and  soft  underfoot.  It  was  rumoured  that 
had  there  been  another  maund  in  India  he  would 
have  bought  it  also. 

Every  now  and  then  the  square,  low  walls  of  a 
barrack  can  be  seen  through  the  trees,  and  the 
last  examining  station  is  passed  close  beside  the 
police  lines  on  the  south  side  of  the  road.  It  is 
neither  of  interest  nor  importance  in  itself,  but 
close  on  the  post  the  scene  changes  with  a  sudden- 
ness that  is  unmistakable.  Man  has  combined  with 
Nature  to  put  a  sudden  end  here  to  the  greenery 
and  the  groves  of  polyglot  Peshawar.  Man  de- 
manded a  clear  glacis  of  a  mile  for  his  riflemen, 
uncovered,  flat,  and  from  end  to  end  capable  of 
being  commanded  and  swept  by  those  innocent- 
looking,  khaki-tinted  mud-walls  ;  but  even  before 
the  farthest  edge  of  this  mile  was  reached,  Nature 
had  given  up  its  brave  struggle  with  the  increasing 


THE   KHYBER.  73 

aridity  and  the  uncompromising  stoniness  of  the 
last  up-wash  of  India  against  the  Himalayan 
barrier.  Henceforth  it  is  a  rocky  and  treeless 
waste.  The  road  still  strikes  westwards,  level, 
straight,  and  smooth.  On  either  side  the  coarse 
sand  of  the  plain  stretches  away,  rarely  furrowed 
here  and  there  by  dry  watercourses,  nourishing 
here  and  there  an  even  rarer  patch  of  tilth.  It  is 
used  occasionally  as  a  divisional  parade  ground, 
though,  for  the  most  part  of  the  year,  it  lies  out  as 
empty  as  the  sea. 

To  right  and  left  the  mountain  spurs  have  thrust 
themselves  forward  to  meet  one  on  either  side,  but 
the  gullet  of  the  Khyber  is  not  reached  for  some  six 
or  seven  miles  yet,  so  deeply  into  the  hills  does 
this  tongue  of  Indian  sand  penetrate.  To  right 
and  left  the  long  promontories  of  grey  gault, 
clad  only  with  spotted  bushes  of  stunted  wild 
olive,  advance  spies  of  their  gigantic  brethren 
whose  blue  outlines  blend  into  the  sky,  mount  up- 
wards from  the  plain  till  they  are  capped  and 
pinnacled  or  overborne  by  the  heavy  walls  of 
Himalayan  gneiss  and  granite.  In  the  middle  of 
this  deep  recess  stands  up  Jamrud,  yellow  in  the 
sun,  blue  purple  in  the  shade,  a  fine,  upstanding 
fort  of  mud  and  stone,  embattled  and  bastioned  like 


74  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

the  fortress  of  a  fairy  tale,  and  perhaps  almost  as 
useless  against  modern  weapons.  Just  as  the  flag 
on  the  keep's  summit  can  be  distinguished,  India 
stops  beneath  one's  feet. 

Here  is  the  frontier  ;  beyond  is  no  man's  land. 
Ours,  indeed,  it  is,  by  the  right  of  the  nine  points  of 
the  law,  and  by  the  necessity  of  the  case,  but  part 
of  India  it  is  not.  Three  miles  short  of  Jamrud 
the  turmoils  and  the  administrative  problems,  the 
constitutional  rights  and  duties,  the  dust  and 
thrust  of  our  Imperial  altruism  fall  behind,  and  we 
come  out  into  the  .real  arena  to  face  the  elemental 
facts  of  life.  Here  self-preservation  is  the  only 
law  that  sanctions,  and  the  game  is  played  with 
vigour,  and  with  something  of  the  law  of  the  jungle 
besides.  Jamrud  and  the  Khyber  do  not  exist  for 
the  delectation  of  idle  men.  It  is  true  that  on 
occasions  when  it  may  be  convenient,  when,  that 
is,  the  pass  is  guarded,  and  its  peaceful  transit 
guaranteed  for  some  other  purpose  than  that  of 
curiosity,  for  such  a  purpose  as  the  passage  of  the 
bi-weekly  caravan  from  Kabul,  then,  and  only  then, 
may  the  idler  have  leave  to  drive  out  to  see  the 
entering  in  of  the  famous  defile.  He  will  enjoy  it 
the  more  because  of  his  fearful  and  delightful  belief 
that  he  takes  his  life  in  his  hand,  and  that  behind 


THE   KHYBER.  75 

each  rock  may  lurk  the  jezail  and  hairy  ruffian  of 
his  long  expectation.     As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  will 
but  be  rudely   treated  by   camels   and  will  suffer 
much  dust.     His  life  will  be  safer  far  in  the  pass 
than  when  in  a  hired  fly  he  went  yesterday  down 
into   Peshawar   bazaar   from   the   hotel   to   buy   a 
handful  of  turquoises  from  a  fat  Parsee  merchant 
lolling  over  his  accounts,  or  a  Penjdeh  rug  in  the 
foul   donkey  market,   where  among  the  mud  and 
dung   and  flies   the   real  treasures  are  unwillingly 
spread    out    to    those    who    understand — blinking 
"  elephant-foot  "  sun- traps  of  maroon  and  crimson, 
and  creamy   white,  bound  about  with  white  and 
black    yak-hair    ropes,    or    Khirgah    purdahs    with 
"  snuff ']     terminals,     glowing     with    the    purples 
and    greens    of     a    pheasant's    neck.      Europeans 
are  not  wanted  here.     Gregson  is  allowed  in  always, 
and    Colonel    Hendley    might    even    be    welcomed 
as  one  initiated,  but  these  glories  of  Central  Asian 
work,  each  the  work  of  seven  or,  maybe,  seventeen 
years,  are  marked  down  by  such  men  as  Ghulam 
Mahommed   "  the  lame/'   or  Ghulam   Rasul,  mer- 
chants of  Rawal  Pindi.     Englishmen  do  not  under- 
stand their  value  yet.     But  if  you  go  and  buy  them 
in  Peshawar  you  may  get  in  the  way  of  a  ghazi — 
a  poor  devil  earning  Paradise  at  your  expense.     If 


76  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

you  keep  to  the  road  in  the  Khyber  you  are  safer 
than  at  many  a  London  crossing. 

From  Jamrud  the  road  still  runs  on  the  flat 
across  a  wide,  torrent-seamed  bed  of  rock  and  sand, 
up  to  the  very  tip  of  the  tongue  of  land.  Here 
the  ascent  begins  between  rough  boulder-strewn 
slopes  ;  these  soon  give  way  to  steep  acclivities  and 
shoulders  of  bare  rock,  round  which  the  road  sweeps 
and  recurs  in  an  easy  and  ever-ascending  gradient. 
The  Shadi-bagiari  blockhouse  commands  the  en- 
trance to  the  pass,  and  Fort  Maude  follows  soon, 
just  where  the  old  plastered  bridge  between  the 
wild  mulberry  and  the  tolly  tree  imports  a  breath 
of  greenery  and  civilisation  into  the  rocky  wilder- 
ness between  the  bare  blasted-out  road  at  one's 
feet  and  the  forbidding  grassless  skyline  far  over- 
head. Still  ascending,  the  road  skirts  Shahgai 
and  the  little  cultivation  plots  of  Lala-china  a  mile 
or  two  before  the  tiny  high-perched  group  of  block- 
houses known  as  Ali  Mas] id.  The  name  is  taken 
from  a  blindingly  whitewashed  little  shrine  that 
marks  a  grave  in  a  little  plot  a  few  feet  above  the 
little  stream.  The  Khyber  rivulet  flashes  by, 
muttering  between  its  pebbles,  and  sadly  dwindled 
by  the  irrigation  canal  that  runs  sedately  beside 
it,  closely  hugging  the  contours  of  the  rock. 


THE   KHYBER.  77 

On  the  opposite  side  rises  the  sharp  conical  pro- 
montory or  group  of  promontories  which  guards  the 
gorge  itself.  For  here— and  here  alone,  through- 
out the  pass's  length  till  Landi  Kotal  is  reached — 
there  is  a  steep  rock-bound  defile,  out  of  which  the 
road  is  cut  on  the  north-eastern  side,  and  by  which 
all  further  view  of  the  Khyber  is  entirely  shut  out. 
This  sense  of  privacy  is  emphasised  by  the  road 
sentries  a  hundred  yards  further  on.  No  one, 
except  those  who  are  accompanied  by  a  "  Khyber 
Rifle  "  as  an  escort,  is  allowed  to  pass  this  barrier, 
and  the  escort  is  only  granted  for  special  reasons. 
Bribery,  blarney,  or  bluff,  all  are  useless  here,  and 
it  is  as  well  that  you  should  not  try  to  steal  through. 
Neither  English  nor  Hindustani  do  the  warders 
understand,  but  their  orders  they  most  entirely  do, 
and  a  German  who  tried  to  force  his  way  through, 
the  other  day,  was  significantly  congratulated  on 
the  failure  of  his  attempt.  For  here  is  business, 
real  business — short  shrifts  are  given,  and  few 
excuses  are  accepted. 

The  blockhouses  of  the  Khyber  are  models  of 
their  kind,  and  the  very  sight  of  their  shrewdly- 
pierced  loopholes,  their  machicoulis  galleries,  and 
their  first-floor  entrances  and  hanging  ladders, 
will  impress  you  long  before  you  notice  that  at  your 


;8  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

elbow,  on  the  rock  beside  you,  is  a  careless  splash  of 
whitewash — five  hundred  yards  range  this  one, 
and  across  the  valley  a  deftly-placed  series  from 
three  hundred  to  one  thousand — a  splash  which 
one  day  it  will  be  sheer  suicide  to  approach.  Still 
climbing,  the  road  now  follows  the  course  of  the 
tinkling  stream,  now  strikes  across  the  bottom  of 
a  tiny  flat  pan  of  ploughland,  just  where,  beside 
the  road,  ill-shapen  masses  of  wood  are  being 
weighed.  They  have  been  brought  in  by  women 
from  the  hills,  and  to-morrow  will  have  started 
down  to  Peshawur,  which  takes  every  stick  of 
firewood  that  the  pass  can  provide.  From  one 
point  of  view,  this  stripping  of  the  pass  has  its 
advantages — for  even  as  late  as  forty  years  ago  the 
hillsides  were  thickly-wooded  enough  to  afford 
considerable  cover — but  the  loss  of  the  vegetation 
affects,  and  is  in  turns  affected  by,  the  rainfall,  to 
an  extent  which  is  annually  becoming  more  and 
more  unmistakable.  Gnarled  and  stunted  wild 
olives,  two  or  three  species  of  thorn,  rarely  a 
rowan  tree — still  more  rarely  upon  the  higher  slopes 
to  the  north,  a  small  oak  which  is  known  locally  as 
a  totarra — these  make  up  the  robuster  vegetation 
of  the  valley. 

Major  Roos  Keppel,  the  presiding  deity  of  the 


THE   KHYBER.  79 

pass,  enforces  law  and  order  in  a  quaint  and  effec- 
tive way.  In  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  tribal 
disputes  he  will  not  enter.  Only  one  thing  is 
sacred — the  Road.  On  that  road  no  man  shall  be 
killed.  Twenty  yards  to  right  and  left  is  the 
hunting-ground  of  the  Khels,  and  Keppel  is  not 
there  to  meddle.  But  woe  betide  the  village 
within  whose  district  a  road-murder  occurs. 

So  this  little  strip  of  civilisation  runs  on,  beset 
on  either  side  with  the  manners  and  customs 
of  Troglodytes  armed  with  magazine  rifles.  At 
Katakushta  we  pass  from  the  territory  of  the 
Malik-dins  to  that  of  the  Wali  Khels,  and  we  enter 
the  Khyber  proper.  This  name  is  given  by  the 
Khels  to  a  comparatively  small  and  insignificant 
part  of  the  pass.  A  Kuki  Khel  from  Shadi-bagiari 
and  a  Zakka  Khel  from  Landi  Kotal  will  speak 
alike  of  making  a  journey  to  the  Khyber ;  Ali 
Mas] id  itself  is  regarded  as  being  outside  the  limits, 
and  the  adoption  of  the  name  by  ourselves  for  the 
entire  pass  is  due  chiefly,  of  course,  to  the  con- 
venience of  having  some  inclusive  name,  but  partly 
also  to  the  fact  that  in  this  part  of  the  gorge,  near 
Zin-tarra,  there  is  the  one  and  only  remarkable  monu- 
ment of  its  entire  length.  This  is  a  large  and  origin- 
ally a  well-built  Buddhist  tope.  An  Indian  tope 


8o  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

is  a  plain  structure  dating  in  almost  every  case 
from  a  comparatively  early  period— being,  of 
course,  in  date  anterior  to,  or  contemporary  with, 
the  expulsion  of  the  Buddhists  from  India  in  the 
seventh  and  eighth  centuries ;  this,  as  perhaps 
making  a  refuge  to  which  the  expelled  Buddhists 
escaped,  may  be  somewhat  later, — consisting  of  a 
platform  surmounted  by  a  plain  dome.  Much  of 
the  exterior  casing  of  the  Zin-tarra  tope  has  been 
pulled  down  for  building  material,  but  it  preserves 
its  shape,  and  in  one  less  accessible  part  it  still 
keeps  its  closely-fitted  exterior  masonry.  The  dome 
must  originally  have  been  about  as  large  as  that 
of  the  Invalides,  and  the  square  platform  below 
projects  well  beyond  the  drum. 

Beyond  the  tope  and  the  twin  villages  of  the 
Sultan  Khels  and  the  Niklei  Khels,  the  road  lifts 
to  the  watershed  plateau,  where  the  long  low  blank 
walls  of  Landi  Kotal  command  a  hundred  acres 
of  fairly  level  ground.  Landi  Kotal  is  not  built 
for  beauty,  but  inside  its  fortifications  is  a  plea- 
sant little  garden,  where  there  is  a  well  overrun 
with  purple  convolvulus  and  zinnias,  and  rambling 
roses  prepare  one  for  the  few  stout  shafts  of  English 
hollyhock  which  bloom  sturdily  enough  in  this 
Ultima  Thule  of  Britain.  Nor  is  this  all  that 


THE   KHYBER.  81 

reminds  one  of  home.  Inside  the  mess  of  the 
Khyber  Rifles,  there,  on  the  wall  in  front  "of  you, 
is  a  series  of  "  Spy's  "  portraits  and — an  engraving 
of  the  "  Beata  Beatrix  "  !  Yet  one  is  really  in  the 
uttermost  of  all  outposts,  and  the  precautions  of  a 
post  in  the  enemy's  country  are  stringently  ob- 
served by  day  and  by  night. 

One  can  still  walk  three  or  four  miles  on,  beyond 
the  friendly  levels  of  the  Grand  Trunk  Road,  over 
a  rough  camel  track  and  cart  road,  to  a  lonely  post 
called  Mishnai  Khandao,  perched  on  the  edge  of 
a  precipitous  rock.  From  here,  Pisgah-like,  you 
may  dangle  your  legs  over,  and  look  down  upon  the 
"  Black  Stones  "  and  the  interlocking  spurs  of  the 
pass  to  the  flat  brown  plain  and  the  far  white 
minarets  of  an  Afghan  tomb  beside  the  Kabul  river. 

Through    the    sunset    we    went    back    to    Landi 
Kotal,  passing  through  the  large  walled  compound, 
where  the  Kafila  or  Kabul  caravan  was  resting  for 
the  night.     Great  shaggy-throated  and  black-headed 
camels,  half  as  tall  again  as  those  of  India,  loomed 
out  of  the  obscurity,  and  tiny  groups  of  incurious 
women   and   lazy   men   gathered   round   the   gipsy 
fires,  at  which  the  evening  meal  was  being  cooked. 
Half-round  each  party  lay  a  rampart  of  the  heavy 
corded  bundles  they  were  bringing  into  India.     Out- 

6 


82  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

side  the  wall  of  the  compound  one  could  see  a  dozen 
heads  rise  and  fall  together  in  outline  against  the 
darkening  sky  as  the  last  prayer  of  the  day  was 
said  and  the  last  prostration  made  to  the  red  west 
that  curtained  distant  Mecca.  Almost  in  the  dark 
we  went  back  past  the  three  water-tanks,  stumbling 
up  against  a  placid  Shinwari,  who,  for  an  expected 
gain  of  a  few  pice,  was  trudging  along  to  distant 
Peshawar  beside  his  pony,  laden  with  dirty  snow 
from  the  winter  pits  of  Mallagori. 


Agra. 


THE  waters  of  the  holy  Jumna,  descending  idly 
to  her  even  holier  sister-stream,  fetch  a  wide 
half-circle  through  their  ever-shifting  "  javeaux " 
and  the  firm,  flat,  sandy  islets  where  the  city's 
washing  makes  gay  mosaic  in  the  morning  sun. 
Agra  crowds  down  to  the  water's  edge  along  the 
outer  curve.  In  flood  time  the  opaque  green 
waters,  as  they  sweep  round  from  north-east  to 
north-east  again,  lap  nearly  up  to  the  stark  walls  of 
the  Mogul  fort,  which  stands  out  from  afar,  the 
crimson  heart  of  the  dun,  dull,  dome-spotted  native 
city.  In  the  early  dawn  the  skeins  of  river  mist 
sway,  like  white  gauze,  all  round  the  great  curve, 
and  just  before  they  float  upwards  and  are  dissipated 
they  catch  the  amethyst  of  the  false  sunrise  that 
precedes  the  up-leap  of  the  strong  Indian  sun 
across  the  low,  empty  levels  of  the  eastern  bank. 
Beyond  the  fort  the  houses  retreat  from  the  river's 

margin,  and  a  space  of  tangled  scrub  and  low  jungle 

6* 


84  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

dips  to  the  sandy  waste  through  which  the  Jumna 
picks  her  way.  A  mile  and  a  half  down  stream, 
among  her  own  forest  trees  and  high  on  her  own 
marble  river- wall,  rises  the  Taj. 

The  last  resting-place  of  Shah  Jehan  and  the 
woman  he  loved  is  for  many  travellers,  perhaps  for 
all,  the  crown  and  goal  of  all  that  India  has  of 
beauty  and  romance.  Generations  have  come  and 
gone  since  that  far  day  when  the  most  splendid 
of  all  earth's  emperors  bowed  his  head  to  the  dust 
before  his  darling's  tiny  little  coffin  in  the  vault  of 
the  finished  Taj,  all  new  and  white  and  glistening. 
There  has  hardly  been  a  traveller  in  all  that  time 
who,  in  his  own  way,  sage  or  sentimental,  has  not 
tried  to  set  down  his  estimate  of  this  marvel  in 
stone.  Some  have  found  safety  in  mere  suggestion 
and  a  reverent  withdrawal  from  the  task ;  others 
have  laid  their  measuring  chains  along  its  courses 
from  plinth  to  crescent  finial,  vainly  seeking  in 
exact  computation  the  secret  that  died  in  the  very 
lifetime  of  the  architect,  died  with  the  occasion 
that  called  forth  the  Taj.  Yet  for  all  their  pains, 
for  all  that  the  building  is  better  known  than  any 
other  in  the  world,  there  may  still  be  room  for  a 
plain  description  of  the  tomb  of  Arjumand,  the 
Exalted  of  the  Palace.  Photography  has  done  its 


AGRA.  85 

best,  but  it  is  possible  that  nothing  has  ever  baffled 
the  lens  so  elusively  as  these  white  marbles  ;  cer- 
tainly no  man  who  ever  came  to  understand  them 
has  once  looked  at  his  photograph  of  them  without 
a  puzzling  sense  of  disappointment.  It  was  a  living 
woman  with  the  breath  of  life  between  her  lips  of 
whom  he  made  his  sun-picture  ;  beneath  the  dull 
ruby  of  his  dark  room  the  film  gives  back  the 
features  of  the  dead. 

There  is  one  matter  I  should  like  to  make  clear. 
Unwise  admirers  of  the  Taj   have  done  her  even 
more  injustice  than  the  camera.     It  is  absurd  to 
deny    the    professional    architect     his    scope    and 
privilege.     There   are   defects,   even   grave   defects, 
in  the  design,  which  sentimental  souls  are  foolish 
to  deny.     They  will  not  see  that  the  fact  that  the 
expert  is  right  in  his  criticisms  does  not  make  them 
wrong.     It  is  inevitable  that  this  antagonism  should 
arise.     Mechanical  perfection  has  ever  been  a  foe 
to  a  deeper  lying  charm.     Salisbury  Cathedral  from 
end  to  end  is  perfect.     There  is  no  tampering  with 
the    clean-run    homogeneity    of     the     pile.      The 
thirteenth  century,  the   era   beyond   all   others   of 
English  Gothic,  bestowed  its  ripened  genius  upon 
the  Minster  of  the  Plain,  and  the  church  as  it  is  to- 
day is  that  from  which  the  loosened  scaffolding 


86  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

fell  away  six  centuries  ago.  But  is  it  not  common 
knowledge  that  Salisbury,  from  its  very  perfection, 
leaves  the  visitor  dissatisfied  and  chilled.  Man 
is  not  fit  for  such  inhuman  certainty,  such  skill 
infallible. 

The  plate  here  given  is  a  picture  of  a  sweeper 
sweeping  in  a  garden.  It  is  true  that  the  Taj 
makes  his  background,  but  that  is  how  one  should 
look  at  it.  It  is  an  old  trick,  well  enough  known 
to  artists,  but  never  more  certain  of  its  effect  than 
here.  The  colour  of  the  Taj,  its  mystery,  its  light- 
ness and  its  strength,  are  tenfold  more  to  be  under- 
stood when  the  eye  does  not  directly  challenge  its 
beauty.  The  man  who  stands  on  the  central 
marble  cistern  and  makes  his  photograph  deserves 
the  failure  which  awaits  him. 

Here  at  Agra  the  architectural  excellence  is  not 
too  wholly  perfect  for  our  poor  human  nature.  Let 
us  accept  the  artist's  condemnation  of  the  black 
marble  "  pointing "  between  the  white  stones  of 
the  minarets ;  let  us  admit  that  the  minarets 
themselves  were  an  experiment  of  doubtful  success ; 
from  the  architect  let  the  charge  that  the  tomb 
is  "  all  gateway  "  remain,  if  not  exactly  accepted, 
at  any  rate  unanswered ;  nay,  one  may  even 
admit  that  from  the  standpoint  of  northern  tastes 


AGRA.  87 

there  is  a  regrettable  sameness  about  the  view 
from  the  four  points  of  the  compass.  These 
are  perfectly  justifiable  and  even  interesting 
comments,  and  it  is  silly  to  object  to  them.  Per- 
haps Ustad  Isa — or  was  it  Verroneo  or  Austin  de 
Bordeaux  ? — would  have  made  alterations  him- 
self if  he  had  had  the  work  to  do  again,  just  as 
Ictinos  confessed  at  Phigaleia  for  all  the  world  to 
see  the  strange  mistake  he  made  in  the  matter 
of  the  frieze  of  the  Parthenon.  What,  after  all, 
do  these  mistakes  matter,  save  that  they  bring 
the  warm  humanity  of  the  Taj,  its  most  intimate 
claim  upon  our  love,  a  little  nearer  and  a  little 
dearer  still  into  our  hearts.  Nay  more,  for  all 
that  distinguishes  mankind  from  brutes  on  the 
one  hand  and  successful  business  operators  on  the 
other,  the  Taj  is  touchstone  supreme.  You 
have  but  to  pass  through  the  red  sandstone 
gateway,  and  look  along  the  water  garden  to  the 
place  itself,  and  your  first  comment  will  tell  us 
more  about  yourself  than  about  the  world-famous 
tomb. 

In  the  central  cistern  cool  lotuses  spread  them- 
selves in  plates  of  bronze  and  green  at  the  water- 
level — a  resting  place  for  diamond-winged  dragon 
flies,  of  scarlet  or  olivine ;  beside  them  the  wet 


88  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

rods  of  flowering  rush  spring  up  in  a  dainty  faggot, 
tied  where  reality  and  reflection  meet.  A  faint 
ripple  of  moving  water  throws  a  tangle  of  light 
upon  the  marble  edge  of  conduits,  that  lead  the 
eye  continually  between  the  jasmine  and  orange 
and  all  the  scented  undergrowth  of  an  Indian 
garden,  up  to  the  haven  where  it  would  rest,  and 
the  dreamy  translucence  of  the  vast  building 
floats  in  sunny  silence,  pearl-white  against  the 
pale  ultramarine  of  the  lower  sky. 

If  you  look  you  will  see  between  the  trees  a 
panel-sided  platform  of  marble.  It  is  twenty  feet 
high,  but  it  looks  scarcely  ten.  Every  side  of  it  is 
a  hundred  yards  long,  but  you  will  have  to  pace 
the  distances  to  believe  it.  Upon  the  plinth  the 
Taj  itself  rises,  silver  in  the  light  and  turquoise 
blue  in  the  shadows.  A  great  gateway  lifts  itself 
clear — too  clear,  alas  ! — for  the  avenue  of  black- 
green  cypress  flambeaux  is  gone,  and  our  grand- 
children alone  may  hope  to  see  again  this  subtle 
and  splendid  glory  of  the  gardens.  On  either  side 
is  a  double-storeyed  flank,  so  deeply  recessed  that 
its  lines  of  pure  marble  seem  less  the  main  con- 
struction of  the  building  than  the  white  meshes 
of  the  rich  blue  mysteries  of  the  eight  arched 
openings  that  attend  the  gate.  Above,  two  clean 


It    1 


AGRA.  89 

lotus-pointed  cupolas  rise,  humble  ministers  to 
the  swelling  purity  of  the  great  white  dome,  which 
crowns  and  recomposes  all  into  harmony  and 
peace. 

At  each  corner  of  the  platform  a  tall  minaret 
stands  sentinel  about  the  place  where  Mumtaz 
sleeps.  On  either  side,  across  the  marble  court- 
yards on  the  right  hand  and  on  the  left,  the  red 
guardian  "  Question  and  Answer "  mosques  face 
inwards  to  the  Taj.  Careless  they  are  of  facing 
east  or  west.  The  ritual  of  Islam  bows  before  the 
stress  of  human  love,  and  through  the  solemn 
spaces  of  the  tomb,  to  the  dead  ears  of  the  Em- 
peror and  his  love,  they  cry  aloud  in  eternal 
antiphon  the  greatness  and  the  majesty  of  God. 
Beyond  on  the  north,  the  Jumna  circles  past  the 
white  abutments,  and  all  round  rises  the  green 
foliage  of  trees  and  the  heavy  scent  of  jasmine 
and  roses. 

Inside,  in  the  gathered  darkness  behind  the 
impenetrable  walls  of  marble,  barely  relieved  by 
their  heavy  latticed  windows,  a  musical  silence 
hovers  beneath  the  dim  vault  whereunder  the 
exquisite  screen  still  guards  the  twin  cenotaphs. 
The  bodies  of  the  lovers  lie  in  the  crypt  below. 
In  the  obscurity  one  may  well  miss  the  quiet  loveli- 


90  UNDER   THE    SUN. 

ness  of  this  perforated  and  jewelled  screen  ;  yet 
Austin  de  Bordeaux,  thief  and  fugitive  though  he 
was,  scamped  never  a  leaf-veining  or  a  chisel- 
touch  as  he  inset  grey  purple  spar  beside  a 
whorl  of  cream  onyx,  or  sparingly  laid  a  touch 
of  raw  emerald  just  where  the  green  -  ribbed 
agates  of  the  fillet  turn  in  their  milky  bed  of 
Jaipur  alabaster.  And  all  this  labour  and  love 
was  bestowed  where,  so  far  as  Austin  could  ever 
guess,  only  the  occasional  smoky  glare  of  a  red 
torch  would  ever  reveal  its  beauties  for  a  passing 
moment. 

Other  buildings  in  the  world  have  their  own 
personal  identity,  their  own  attitude  towards 
the  ways  and  loves  of  men.  St.  Mark's  challenges 
the  inner  lives  of  men,  St.  Peter's  the  crooking 
of  their  knees,  the  Pyramids  confront  the  rising 
and  the  setting  sun,  the  polestar  and  all  the 
celestial  company,  Salisbury  gazes  coldly  and  very 
certainly  upwards  into  heaven.  The  Taj  Mahal 
alone  crouches  together,  still  huddled  in  loveliness 
and  utter  misery,  crying  only  to  be  left  alone  with 
her  dead.  There  is  no  front  to  the  Taj  ;  go  where 
you  will,  she  turns  away,  and  will  have  none  of 
the  world's  consolation,  its  sympathy,  or,  worst 
of  all,  its  admiration.  Blind  with  her  own  tears, 


AGRA.  91 

she  dwells  apart,  the  spirit  of  love  incarnate, 
realising  to  the  bitter  dregs  the  uselessness  of 
raising  jewelled  homes  of  marble  for  the  un- 
responsive dead.  Arjumand  is  dead,  is  dead,  and 
not  all  the  wealth  of  him  who  never  had  an  earthly 
rival  in  splendour  can  buy  back  one  fleeting  hour. 
It  is  misery  made  manifest. 

You  will  understand  the  Taj  best  if  you  will  wait 
till  the  rosy  fleeces  have  faded  in  the  afterglow  and 
the  ripples  of  the  Jumna  run  steel-grey  in  the 
waning  light.  A  bird  springs  up,  and  the  leaves 
of  the  thuia  and  the  pepal  murmur  together  as  the 
darkness  grows.  A  flying-fox  with  leathern  wings 
wheels  down  from  above,  and  a  morrice  of  bats 
heralds  the  coming  of  the  moon  in  the  utter  silence. 
And  then  you  will  understand  that  it  does  not 
matter  whether  you  can  still  see  the  Taj  or  not.  It 
is  no  question  now  of  dome  or  gateway,  silver  work, 
or  inlaid  jewels.  But  as  the  dusk  deepens  you 
will  come  to  know  that  the  frail  little  body  buried 
far  down  in  its  jewelled  alabaster  beside  her  faithful 
lord  stands,  and  must  always  stand,  for  all  that 
men  hold  dear  or  sacred  in  this  world.  However 
splendid  and  costly  it  may  be,  however  renowned, 
however  beautiful,  the  Taj  itself  is  but  an  emblem 
and  a  symbol — so  long  as  men  and  women  love 


92  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

upon  this  earth,  so  long  shall  they  go  to  the  quiet 
garden  beside  the  Jumna  to  lay  their  flowers  in 
honour  of  Mumtaz  alone,  not  of  Ustad  Isa,  not  of 
Shah  Jehan,  nor  of  another.  For  she  loved  and  was 
much  beloved. 


93 


Jammu. 


IT  was  a  swelteringly  hot  noonday,  and  Jammu 
had  proved  somewhat  barren  of  interest  except 
as  a  panorama  from  the  Prime  Minister's  un- 
finished Anglo  -  Hindu  -  Kashmiri  palace  -  villa  on 
Ramnagar.  The  museum — which  had  its  origin 
as  a  spacious  house  run  up  so  recently  before  the 
visit  of  the  present  Emperor  in  1875  that  he  wisely 
decided  not  to  risk  sleeping  in  the  still  wet,  plastered 
rooms — was  suffering,  like  many  other  things  in 
India,  from  an  energetic  spring-cleaning  and  re- 
arrangement. So  far  only  the  necessary  ordeal  of 
dirt  and  a  general  state  of  locked-upness  had  been 
achieved,  and  the  stag's-horn  chandeliers  of  the 
verandah  hardly  repaid  the  trouble  of  the  climb, 
though  they  had  evidently  impressed  the  khan- 
samah  of  the  noble  guest-house  which  here  con- 
descends to  act  as  a  dak  bungalow.  The  great 
temple  was  not  without  interest,  and  it  was  a 
source  of  mixed  gratification  to  note  that  the  costly 


94  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

compliment  of  a  tomb  with  a  gilded  copper  dome 
had  been  paid  to  the  memory  of  shrewd  old  Golab 
Singh,  who,  in  1846,  bought  our  interest  in  Jammu 
and  Kashmir,  lock,  stock,  and  barrel,  for  half  the 
price  of  a  new  hotel  in  Piccadilly. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  seemed  a  chance  that 
in  sheer  desperation  and  poverty  Kashmir  would 
have  to  be  taken  over  again  by  the  Indian  Govern- 
ment, but  this  last  chance  of  regaining  control  was 
thrown  away  when  one  Walter  Lawrence  was  sent 
by  the  Viceroy  to  set  the  financial  system  of  the 
country  upon  a  better  footing.  For  the  reforms  he 
instituted — one  of  the  soundest  pieces  of  finan- 
cial administration  that  India  has  known — not 
only  set  the  twin  States  of  Jammu  and  Kashmir 
on  their  legs  again,  but  have  resulted  in  such 
plethoric  money-bags  that  the  Maharaja's  great 
brother,  Sir  Amar  Singh,  prime  minister,  com- 
mander-in-chief,  and  guardian  tutelary  of  the  terri- 
tories, hardly  knows  how  to  spend  the  accumulated 
revenues.  But  he  is  wisely  spending  them  on 
railways,  which  solves  the  difficulty  of  the  surplus 
for  himself — and  will  probably  double  it  for  his 
successor. 

The  palace  is  unimpressive — a  large  quadrangle 
with  every  side  built  in  a  different  style.  One  is 


JAMMU.  95 

an  erection,  of  no  particular  style,  that  sears  the 
eye  with  its  white-hot  wash ;  a  second  suggests 
Venice ;  a  third,  departmental  offices  at  Simla  ; 
and  the  fourth  is  frankly  inspired  by  the  Victoria 
railway  station  at  Bombay.  There  is  a  curious 
custom  symbolised  by  a  wooden  cage  in  an  open 
structure  in  the  market-place.  Into  this  a  new 
Maharaja  enters,  almost  on  his  hands  and  knees, 
to  receive  the  tilak,  or  caste  mark,  from  a  priest, 
as  a  necessary  preliminary  to  his  full  recognition  as 
head  of  the  State.  It  is  only  just  to  say  that  this 
statement  was  denied  in  toto  by  one  elderly  in- 
habitant of  Jammu.  Like  Fuller  of  old,  "  the 
Writer  intricated  leaveth  all  to  the  Last  Day/' — a 
necessity  that  is  more  frequent  in  India  than  the 
glib  narratives  of  many  good  writers  and  experienced 
"  qui  hais "  would  suggest.  However,  there  the 
wooden  cage  is,  and  it  seems  ill-adapted  for  any 
other  use. 

The  bazaar  is  indistinctive  of  anything.  Babies, 
huge-cup-moulds  of  raw  salt  looking  like  pink 
sugar-candy ;  the  usual  crimson-bearded  Moham- 
medans of  a  certain  age,  which  they  are  anxious 
to  dissemble,  the  usual  pirate  bulls  nosing  about 
among  the  sellers  of  vegetable  stuffs,  a  few  hill 
sheep,  which  always  suggest  that  a  paper-fastener 


96  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

must  be  used  to  keep  in  its  strained  position  the 
huge,  fat,  upturned  tail  of  pink  and  wool.  Nothing 
was  remarkable  in  all  this.  An  officer  of  the  Im- 
perial Service  troops  and  I  wandered  on,  and  then 
remembered  a  word  of  advice  as  we  left  the  bun- 
galow. Someone  on  an  official  visit  to  the  State 
authorities  shouted  after  us :  "  Go  and  see  the 
tigers,  if  you  have  time/'  We  asked  where  the  cage 
of  tigers  was,  and  we  went  to  it.  We  found  a 
strangely  interesting  thing,  something,  indeed,  that 
seemed  better  fitted  to  belong  to  a  new  Jungle 
Book  than  to  the  serious  region  of  fact.  Yet  the 
story  is  exactly  true.  It  was  so  curious  that  we 
took  some  pains  to  verify  it. 

We  had  been  told  that  the  Maharaja  of  Jammu 
possessed  the  finest  male  tiger  kept  in  captivity 
anywhere  in  the  world.  This,  I  should  say,  is  un- 
questionably true.  Our  informant  might  have 
added  that  his  mate  was  the  worst-tempered 
prisoner  of  any  menagerie  on  earth.  The  cage  in 
which  these  two  are  kept  is  a  jerry-built  erection 
of  bricks  and  plaster.  The  iron  bars  are  as  thick 
as  a  little  finger,  and  are  inserted  in  the  mortar 
between  the  bricks  at  the  top.  A  good  deal  of  the 
mortar  has  fallen,  and,  thanks  to  the  anger  of  the 
lady  inside,  some  more  of  it  fell  while  we  were 


* 


JAMMU.  97 

looking  on.  It  did  not  increase  our  sense  of  safety 
to  notice  that  the  bars  do  not  reach  to  the  bottom, 
but  are  held  in  place  by  two  or  three  traverses  of 
iron.  The  tiger,  a  glorious  brute  of  white  and 
orange  and  black,  with  steel  sinews  and  teeth  like 
Sikh  daggers,  lay  sulkily  in  his  cage  and  growled. 
The  attendant  was  a  man  of  whom  some  idea  should 
be  conceived.  Five-foot  four  and  thin,  old  and 
a  little  wasted  in  face,  with  a  long,  sparse  beard  of  a 
hundred  hairs  stirring  in  the  wind  ;  his  eyes  sunken, 
but  looking  straight  into  your  own,  with  heavy 
bistred  circles  low  on  his  cheek-bones,  his  puggary 
of  white  gauze  falling  deep  on  either  side  below 
his  ears,  and  his  almost  toothless  mouth  stained 
with  red  catechu — he  made  up  an  ensemble 
that  was  still  dignified,  a  man  to  the  marrow. 
Indeed,  he  let  us  know  that  he  was  of  the 
lordly  race  of  Nadaun,  long  exiled  from  the 
Punjab,  and  forced  to  adopt  the  faith  of  Islam. 
As  he  spoke  the  tigress  again  and  again  flung 
herself  furiously  against  the  flimsy  bars;  white 
people  maddened  her  especially  it  seemed.  Her 
lord  growled  steadily,  and  drew  in  his  breath  with 
a  bubbling  sound.  The  keeper  put  his  anatomy 
of  a  hand  under  his  kothi  and  pulled  out  a  little 
white  bag. 

7 


98  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Some    years    ago,    Mangal — I    suppose    the    pair 
had  been  trapped  on  a  Tuesday — found  that  the 
little  back-door  of  his  den  was  open.     The  assistant 
of  the  little  menagerie  returned  to  find  him  loose 
in  the  garden,  and  fled  incontinently.     In  half  an 
hour  Jammu's  streets  were  as  those  of  a  dead  city. 
One  informant  told  us  that  the  soldiers,  especially, 
were  on  the  roofs  of  the  houses.     Tired  of  inaction, 
Mangal  stole  out  and  glided  silently  down  the  main 
street  of  the  town,  a  beautiful  vision  of  orange  and 
black  striped  death..   No  man  hindered  him,  and 
he  went  down  to  the  jungle  beside  the  Tavi,  and 
vanished.     An   hour   afterwards   the    keeper   came 
back  to  his  work  and  heard  the  news.   A  few  minutes 
later  another  solitary  figure  made  its  way  down  the 
still  empty  streets  of  Jammu,  with  bowed  head, 
beneath  the  glare  of  the  sun.     He  had  no  weapon. 
Only,  as  he  said,  he  had  put  on  a  leather  coat  to  keep 
Mangal  from  scratching  him.     It  was  a  touch  that 
made  the  incident  flash  up  before  the  eyes  so  in- 
stantly and  truly  that  from  a  European  it  must  have 
seemed  an   unpardonable   touch    of    artistic   affec- 
tation.    He  had  his  little  white  bag  in  his  hand, 
and  he  went  quietly  down  the  deserted  ways  and 
was  lost  to  sight  in  the  jungle.     An  hour  later  he 
returned  bare-headed    in    the    sun.     At  his    heels, 


Nadoun,  keeper  of  the  tigers,  Jammu. 


[Facing  page  98. 


JAMMU.  99 

fawning  and  kittenish,  slouched  Mangal,  and 
round  the  tiger's  neck  was  loosely  tied  one  end 
of  Nadaun's  white  puggary. 

Will  you  try  to  reconstruct  what  the  sight  must 
have  been  ?  Up  over  the  hard  hot  cobbles  and 
mud  of  the  empty  streets  moved  the  pair.  Nadaun, 
unhesitating  and  even-paced,  never  looking  back, 
or  varying  the  steady  exchange  of  his  thin  legs, 
beneath  the  gaze  of  the  thousands  thronging  the 
flat  roofs  overhead,  all  in  the  utter  silence  of  such 
excitement  that  the  only  sound  heard  was  the 
mutter  of  the  Tavi  far  in  the  valley  below.  Behind 
him,  ludicrously  leashed  with  the  long,  frail  puggary, 
the  silken-coated  brute  padded  uncertainly  with 
dripping  mouth  and  bared  teeth.  It  was  the  little 
white  bag  that  had  done  it.  | 

1  Would  your  honours  like  to  see  the  effect  of 
this  medicine  ?  "  Nadaun  put  his  hand  into  the 
bag,  and  scattered  a  few  whitish  grains  inside  the 
bars.  In  a  moment  Mangal  was  upon  them  with 
a  deep  bass  cough,  and  his  great,  rough,  red  tongue 
was  searching  out  the  tiniest  scrap  of  whatever  it 
was.  In  fifteen  seconds  he  was  yawning,  and  a 
slathering  stream  was  dripping  from  his  mouth.  In 
thirty  seconds  he  was  on  his  back  in  the  middle 
of  the  cell,  wriggling  from  side  to  side,  and  beating 

7* 


ioo  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

the  air  with  his  huge  paws,  like  a  kitten  played 
with  by  a  child.  Nadaun  put  his  arm  in  and  pulled 
his  whiskers.  Mangal  smiled  fatuously,  and  pre- 
tended to  bite. 

This  is  actually  what  happened.  It  is  difficult 
to  explain  the  reason.  Nadaun  very  naturally 
refused  to  allow  us  to  look  closely  at  the  powder.  It 
was  his  livelihood,  he  said,  and  his  secret,  if  our 
honours  would  pardon  him,  must  be  kept.  Probably 
valerian  enters  into  the  compound,  but  it  is  difficult 
to  suggest  any  drug  that  could  have  so  immediate 
a  result.  A  few  grains  were  given  to  the  tigress 
also ;  the  effect  upon  her  was  as  much  more 
striking,  as  she  had  been  more  furious  but  a  minute 
before. 

It  was  all  very  odd,  and  the  main  street  took  on 
a  new  interest  as  we  went  back  past  the  long 
caravans  of  bullock  carts,  which  were  even  then 
slowly  carrying  out  the  innumerable  necessities  and 
furniture  destined  for  the  camp  at  Satwari,  which 
was  to  be  used  by  the  Prince  of  Wales  during  his 
brief  stay  at  Jammu.  What  a  camp  that  was ! 
Electricity  everywhere,  and  the  humblest  tent 
lined  with  Kashmiri  embroideries  and  shawls.  A 
stream  had  been  deflected  to  make  for  beauty  in  the 
garden  of  the  camp.  Not  for  drinking,  mark  you  ; 


JAMMU.  ,  ioi 

it  will  scarcely  be  believed,  but  iKe/tY3ry<  <joty$  which:  A 
provided   milk   for   the   camp   had,   for   six   weeks 
beforehand,  been  watered  with  boiled  and  filtered 
water,  and  the  bathrooms  were  supplied  with  the 
same  somewhat  luxurious  liquid. 

As  we  returned,  at  the  gate  of  the  bungalow 
the  guard  of  honour,  provided  for  the  Maharaja  on 
the  occasion  of  his  state  visit  to  the  Resident,  six- 
footers  every  man,  swung  past  us  to  the  skirl  of 
the  pipes,  beneath  their  colours  of  crimson  and 
gold,  with  Lakshmi  dancing  decorously  in  the 
middle. 


102 


Calcutta. 


THE  last  few  hours  of  the  journey  from  the  west 
into  Calcutta  are  as  interesting  as  any  that  railway 
travel  in  India  can  give  us.  The  low,  flat,  water- 
sodden  delta  of  the  Ganges  stretches  out  to  the 
horizon,  but  so  great  is  the  wealth  of  vegetation 
that  twenty  yards  is  often  as  far  as  one  can  see, 
except  where  some  reedy  bank,  flaming  with 
patches  of  rose  lotus,  opens  out  between  the  cocoa- 
nuts,  teaks,  and  bananas  that  continually  shut  in 
the  view  with  their  half-translucent  green  curtain. 
Everything  is  rank  in  growth  and  rich  in  colour 
In  the  early  morning  the  mere  telegraph  wires  are 
curves  of  hanging  diamonds  ;  the  dripping  morning 
dew  has  fringed  every  leaf  with  its  own  jewels, 
and  the  very  sleepers  of  the  railway  flash  with 
white  fire  as  the  sun  strikes  uncertainly  between 
the  foliage  of  the  virgin  jungle.  Here  and  there 
an  abandoned  hut  is  almost  hidden  in  the  folds  of 
the  yellow  karela  upon  its  roof-tree,  or  of  the  up- 


CALCUTTA,  103 

springing  pampas  or  datura  beside  its  falling  walls  ; 
here  and  there  the  jungle-overgrown  house  of  some 
old  Frenchman  pretends  that  it  is  a  human  habita- 
tion still,  and  the  crazy  door-jambs  and  fungused 
lintels  stand  away  under  the  bulging  weight  of  their 
red  bricks  above.  Chinsurah  and  Chandernagore 
are  passed.  For  the  former  we  exchanged  Sumatra 
— no  small  price  ;  the  great  pink  palace,  almost 
abutting  on  the  railway  station  of  the  latter,  has 
the  picturesque  but  wholly  unjust  reputation  of 
having  been  built  as  a  haven  of  refuge  by  an 
absconding  debtor  from  Calcutta,  who  found  a  per- 
manent home  among  the  easy-going  Frenchmen  in 
this  fever-ridden  place.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there 
is  little  here  of  romance  ;  the  arm  of  the  English 
is  long,  and  the  French  do  not  care  to  have 
their  scanty  acres  clogged  with  those  who 
have  left  Calcutta  for  Calcutta's  good.  For  on 
many  days  the  reek  of  the  long-drawn  veil  of 
smoke  that  always  hems  in  their  southern  horizon 
can  be  smelled,  so  near  is  the  metropolis  of 
India. 

The  train  comes  into  the  Howrah  terminus  on 
the  western  bank  of  the  Hugh,  and  the  bridge, 
almost  as  famous  and  as  cosmopolitan  as  that  of 
Pera,  has  to  be  crossed.  On  the  left  is  the  sacred 


104  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

ghat,  where  devotees  assembled  to  bathe  before 
even  Job  Charnock,  of  questionable  fame,  came  up 
from  Madras  hunting  for  leave  to  set  up  a  factory 
and  a  few  square  acres  on  which  to  build  it. 
Aurangzeb  the  Magnificent  gave  him  a  piece  of 
land  at  Sutanati  in  1690.  The  pleasant  imaginings 
of  writers  have  taken  such  hold  that  it  is  firmly 
believed  in  Calcutta  that  he  landed  at  Boytakhana 
Bazar,  and  sat  down  under  the  pipal  to  ruminate 
upon  the  future  greatness  of  this  fever-ridden 
swamp.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  were  English 
already  at  Sutanati,  which  is  the  modern  Rathtola 
Ghat,  and  Charnock's  chief  service  to  the  State 
lay  rather  in  his  iron  character  than  in  his  morals 
or  in  his  foresight.  For  it  is  generally  conceded 
now  that  Calcutta,  built  upon  a  stagnant  swamp, 
painfully  reclaimed  from  the  crumbling  alluvial 
drift  of  the  Ganges,  has  attained  her  high  position 
in  despite  of,  rather  than  as  a  result  of,  any  pro- 
phetic value  attaching  to  this  choice.  For  example, 
there  is  to-day  a  grave  uncertainty  whether  the 
subsoil  of  the  Maidan  is  able  to  support  the  Victoria 
Memorial  Hall  which  is  to  be  built  in  the  middle 
of  the  large  public  park,  in  the  heart  of  Calcutta. 
This  will  explain  perhaps  the  enormous  expense 
which  has  been  incurred  by  seven  generations  of 


CALCUTTA.  105 

men  in  turning  "  Sutanati  "  into  the  second  city 
of  the  Empire. 

Flat  and  well-metalled  roadways  of  great  width 
skirt  by  the  maidan  or  dive  through  the  many- 
storeyed  buildings  of  Calcutta.  Electric  light  and 
electric  tramways  put  the  richest  parts  of  London 
to  shame.  Shops  that  are  barely  less  in  size  and 
importance  than  their  namesakes  in  England  line 
the  better-known  streets,  and  houses  encircled  by 
well-tended  gardens  form  suburbs  that  keep  up 
the  tradition  of  luxury  that  Hastings  well  under- 
stood and  Macaulay  accepted.  If  the  buildings 
are  not  as  eye-compelling  as  those  of  Bombay,  it  is 
only  because  the  inhabitants  have  hesitated  to 
accept  the  architecture  with  which  the  Western 
metropolis  has  unfortunately  been  content ;  they 
are  no  less  commodious,  and  one  day  will  be  rebuilt 
with  a  permanence  better  deserved  than  that  of  the 
best  Parsi-Gothic  of  Bombay. 

Yet  Calcutta  is  a  dull  town.  It  is  flat  and  un- 
lovely from  end  to  end.  There  is  never  a  corner  to 
be  turned  in  it  which  lets  in  a  new  scene.  The 
bazaars  are  duller  than  any  others  in  Hindustan. 
Except  for  the  collector  of  the  relics  of  John 
Company — Chippendale  chairs,  French  mirrors,  or 
Sheffield  plate — there  is  little  of  art  in  them  which 


io6  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

cannot  be  better  bought  elsewhere,  and  even  at  her 
best  the  midday  sun  can  find  nothing  in  all  her 
borders  to  arrest  the  eye  and  little  enough  to  chain 
the  imagination.  The  Black  Hole  ?  Yes,  it  has  been 
contingently  re-discovered.  The  Government  offi- 
cial has  his  faith  fixed  for  him  by  a  marble  tablet 
and  a  good-intentioned  reservation  by  Dalhousie 
Square.  But  the  railed-off  marble  floor  does  not 
help  a  visitor  much  to  re-construct  the  famous  cellar, 
and,  besides,  the  full  space  is  partly  covered  by  the 
high  and  ornate  red  walls  of  the  new  post-office. 
Moreover,  there  are  so-called  experts  who  deny  its 
authenticity,  and  would  place  the  original  site  of 
the  Hole  on  the  other  side  of  the  post-office. 

There  is  also  a  tablet  to  Job  Charnock  in  the 
garden  of  the  old  cathedral,  and  another  to  William 
Hamilton,  who  vindicated  the  chartered  rights 
of  the  East  India  Company  when  threatened 
by  the  feeble  and  wastrel  successors  of  the  Great 
Moguls.  But  Madras  is  the  real  centre  of  this 
early  and  tentative  British  enterprise,  and  there 
is  more  human  interest  in  the  bare  registers  or 
Yale's  communion  plate  in  Fort  St.  George  than  in 
all  that  remains  of  our  first  occupation  and  tribu- 
lation in  Calcutta.  Of  the  splendour  of  bygone 
India  there  is  naturally  not  a  vestige. 


CALCUTTA.  107 

But  Calcutta  has  one  unfailing  charm  of  its  own 
—the  sunset  glories  of  the  "  Hugh."     It  is  not  of 
her  own  making,  except  so  far  as  her  own  peculiar 
dirtiness   has   contributed   to    the   sight,   but   you 
may  always  find  it  if  you  will  walk  or  drive  out  as 
the  day  wanes.     The  day-long  smoke-coils  from  the 
vomiting  chimneys  of  Howrah  and  Calcutta  have 
died  down,  and  the  rich  brown  sediment  of  the  sky 
lies  in  the  now  windless  air  between  the  city  and 
the  nobility  of  the  western  sky.     The  flat  expanse 
of  the  maidan  runs  unchecked  in  the  dusk  to  the 
very  water's  edge,  where  the  ocean-going  steamers 
lie,    and     from     it    the    reflected     brown-crimson 
splendours  of  the  horizon  and  the  orange  and  gold 
gradations  which  lead  up  to  the  faint  purples  and 
steely  blues  of  the  zenith  are  seen   with  all  the 
unique  enhancement  of  webbed  black  masts  and 
silhouetted  rigging.     The  tints  mount  and  recede, 
Government  House  in  the  distance  takes  on  a  rich 
orange,  and  behind  you  Fort  William  stands  out  one 
moment  in  sepia  before  it  falls  away  in  the  encroach- 
ing tide  of  evening  lavender.     The  lights  of  the 
long  string  of  carriages  come  out,  and  the  scene  is 
over.     Short  as  it  is,  the  sunset  remains  the  most 
beautiful  thing  in  the  metropolis  of  India.     No- 
where else  in  the  world  do  river  scenery  and  the  fog 


io8  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

of  a  manufacturing  town  close  in  such  a  vista  of 
long  grey-green  swathes  of  grass  edging  quite  up 
to  ocean  steamers  of  ten  thousand  tons,  and  ringed 
about  with  the  great  suggestions  of  a  city. 

From  nowhere  does  one  see  the  city  itself  ;  it  lies 
in  the  background,  stalking  the  visitor  now  and  then 
from  behind  the  vista  of  a  street  or  the  smoke  of 
many  chimneys,  but  never  asserting  itself  as  a 
tangible  thing.  Once  I  went  round  Calcutta  by 
night.  The  Thagi  and  Dacoity  Department  lent  me 
a  man  and  gave  me  three  hours  of  unguessable  ex- 
periences. But  it  is  not  an  expedition  that  it  is 
easy  for  a  visitor  to  make,  and  the  strange  glimpses 
of  the  Arabian  Nights,  of  scenes  from  Port  Said 
dancing-rooms,  or  of  night-gambling  in  the  cafes 
of  Constantinople,  rich  and  varied  as  they  were, 
were  foreign,  too,  and  of  necessity  hid  themselves 
strangely  and  securely  in  this  modern  ugly  town, 
where  nothing  counts  but  the  chances  of  making 
oneself  wealthy  or  the  hope  of  leaving  it  for  ever. 
Sentiment — and  I  could  almost  add  religion  of 
every  kind — has  been  reduced  here  to  a  subordina- 
tion, that  is  a  queer  contradiction  of  the  under- 
lying superstition  of  most  of  the  races  that  make  up 
the  population. 

Socially  Calcutta  provides  a  few  pleasant  weeks 


,  ,   , 
(  ,  ,  I  , 


CALCUTTA.  109 

in  the  year  ;  the  work  of  Government  routine  is 
carried  on  here  during  the  cold  weather — what  else 
is  there  left  to  say  of  her  ?  Little  enough.  It  is 
a  notable  thing  that  she  has  ousted  no  other  one 
of  the  natural  capitals  of  India.  She  provides, 
indeed,  a  happy  hunting-ground  for  the  rabbit- 
hearted  sedition  of  some  sections  of  the  Bengalis, 
but  with  that  political  achievement  she  is  fain  to 
rest.  What  Calcutta  says  few  men  care  to  know, 
in  spite  of  the  vast  wealth  that  annually  pours 
through  her  as  the  clearing-house  of  the  Gulf  of 
Bengal.  There  is  much  that  is  worthy  of  Calcutta 
done  within  her — nothing  that  is  worthy  of  the 
capital  of  India.  The  Army  and  Navy  Stores  re- 
main as  the  symbol  of  Calcutta.  It  is  a  place  where 
one  can  buy  cheap  European  goods  pleasantly  and 
from  a  fair  range  of  choice  ;  one's  hair  is  cut  better 
in  Calcutta  than  elsewhere.  The  Bengal  Club  is  the 
best  in  Asia.  One  remembers  pleasant  evenings  as 
one  passes  through — passes  through.  There,  per- 
haps, the  truth  lies.  Little  as  any  part  of  India  can 
be  called  the  permanent  home  of  any  European, 
Calcutta  is  the  place  beyond  all  others  of  which  it  is 
true  that  in  the  counting-house,  as  in  the  streets  and 
law  courts,  in  the  pettiest  flat  as  in  the  houses  of 
the  councillors,  every  white  man  and  white  woman 


i  io  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

is  at  the  same  task,  counting  the  very  hours  till 
the  days  of  his  exile  be  past  and  done,  and  he  shall 
be  able  to  shake  the  dirt  of  Calcutta  from  his  feet 
and  her  memory  from  his  mind  for  ever. 

Yet  he  keeps  grim  hold  of  his  inheritance  for  his 
sons'  sake,  and  hereby  is  the  strength  of  English 
work  abroad.  Verily  Calcutta  is  a  great  city  in 
spite  of  itself. 


Ill 


Darjiling. 


THE  road  cut  out  of  the  mountain  side  turns  a 
corner  and  the  last  sight  of  human  habitation 
vanishes.  You  may  slip  down  a  few  yards  on  to 
a  projecting  ledge  of  rock  to  get  out  of  the  way  of 
the  dust  that  is  kicked  up  by  the  bullocks  as  they 
pass.  There  is  no  beast  living  that  shuffles  up 
so  much  dust  as  the  common  bullock.  It  would 
be  a  curious  point  for  Darwin  to  have  decided. 
I  suppose  that  oxen  only  flourished  where  there 
was  a  certain  amount  of  good  and  probably  rather 
short  vegetation,  so  that  it  did  not  matter  much 
whether  as  he  walked  the  beast  dragged  his 
feet.  Camels  have  long  learned  the  wisdom  of 
planting  their  feet  and  picking  them  up  again 
neatly,  however  fast  they  may  be  travelling ;  and 
an  elephant's  experience  in  the  long  jungle  grass 
may  have  taught  him  his  Agag-like  methods  of 
progression.  Certainly  bullocks  were  never  in- 
tended by  their  Creator  for  work  in  the  loose  dust 


ii2  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

of  an  Indian-made  road.  Draught  bullocks  in  the 
East  are  generally  shod.  The  great  white  oxen 
which  draw  the  gold  and  silver  guns  of  Patiala  are, 
I  believe,  shod  each  beast  with  his  corresponding 
metal ;  but  it  must  be  a  poor  alloy  of  gold  that  is 
hard  enough  to  stand  such  work.  Here  on  the 
grassy  ledge  we  are  away  from  the  wayside  dust 
which  hangs  so  heavily  on  every  leaf,  and  turns  to 
a  dull,  universal  eucalyptus  grey  the  richest  greens 
beside  the  Himalaya  roads.  The  matted  bents 
mask  the  steep  and  uncertain  edges  of  the  little 
plateau.  Here,  at  a  height  of  seven  thousand 
feet  above  the  sea,  an  almost  English  climate 
modifies  considerably  the  trees  and  flowers  round 
us,  but  it  is  chiefly  in  the  manner  of  intro- 
ducing hardier  specimens  than  in  entirely  cutting 
out  the  tropical  vegetation  which  has  rustled  past 
the  carriages  of  the  little  toy  railway  that  climbs 
up  from  Siliguri.  Over  there  is  a  reddening  patch 
of  barberry  beneath  a  camelia,  just  such  a  clump 
as  adds  a  note  of  colour  to  a  path  at  Belvoir  ;  over 
it,  incongruous  but  flourishing,  is  a  tree-fern  with 
its  witch-mantle  of  last  year's  brown  dead  foliage. 
A  little  farther  there  is  a  canary  tree  growing  by 
the  side  of  the  path,  and  streamers  of  white  orchid 
fall  from  it.  It  is  too  common  here  to  attract 


DARJILING.  113 

much  notice,  and  long  grey  lichens,  like  seaweed, 
drip  from  the  upper  branches.  Yaktail  grasses 
throw  up  fountains  of  white  feathery  bents  in 
between  the  dark  reddish  and  amber-coloured  rocks. 
A  couple  of  Tibetans  pass  slowly  up ;  one,  I  sup- 
pose, is  a  woman,  as  her  hair  is  done  in  two  pigtails 
instead  of  one,  and  a  flash  of  fleur-de-lys  turquoise 
marks  her  ear,  but  it  is  difficult  to  see  clearly,  and 
there  is  nothing  else  in  the  dress  to  distinguish  one 
from  the  other.  Their  cheeks  are  swollen  with 
lumps  of  cheese,  and  their  cloth-topped  boots  of 
half -raw  hide  are  white  with  dust.  The  man  is 
carrying  a  prayer-wheel,  and  as  he  walks  he  keeps 
time  with  the  chained  weight.  He  murmurs  the 
eternal  Tibetan  formula  as  he  goes,  but  the  syllables 
are  all  lost  in  a  low  hum.  There  is  a  cheerful 
trickle  of  water  from  the  split  bamboo  runnel 
beside  the  path,  and  his  companion  stops  to  drink, 
boldly  putting  her  mouth  to  the  slant  cut  edge 
of  the  half-pipe.  It  is  pleasant  to  be  so  far 
removed  from  the  caste  prejudices  of  India,  where, 
even  at  a  wayside  railway  station,  the  boy  who 
doles  out  the  water  must  be  a  Brahmin,  and 
those  whom  he  serves  must  never  dare  touch  the 
lip  of  the  pitcher.  There  is  a  slight  scent  of  in- 
cense in  the  air.  It  is,  I  suppose,  some  unseen 

8 


ii4  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

plant  of  humia,  but  it  harmonises  pleasantly  with 
the  two  stumpy  figures  muffled  in  thick  dirty 
crimson  cloth.  They  pass  on  their  way  and  vanish, 
and  the  only  thing  which  still  moves  in  the  hot  air 
is  the  slant  of  some  zig-zagging  butterfly.  You 
crush  a  bed  of  ferns  as  you  sit  down  and  look  out 
over  the  abyss  to  the  north. 

Darjiling  has  many  practical  advantages.  It  is 
the  hot-weather  station  for  the  Bengal  Govern- 
ment, and  therefore  the  resort  also  of  such  Calcutta 
society  as  cannot  -go  to  Simla.  It  is  a  healthy 
sanatorium  for  troops,  and,  besides,  has  a  certain 
strategic  and  commercial  importance  because  the 
roads  that  run  through  Sikkim  to  Tibet  converge 
at  the  Tista  bridge.  As  the  road  that  runs  beside 
the  Tista  falls  into  the  river  for  six  months  in  each 
year  the  Lepchas  and  Paharias  find  it,  as  a  rule, 
safer  to  make  their  way  up  again  through  Pashok 
and  the  tea  gardens  to  Darjiling,  instead  of  tramp- 
ing on  beside  the  cold  snow-curdled  stream  and 
through  the  '  sal '  forest  to  Siliguri.  They  have 
little  eye  for  natural  scenery.  But  the  one  claim 
that  Darjiling  boasts  which  will  remain  in  the 
mind  of  those  who  visit  her,  is  that  from  this  moun- 
tain side  on  which  you  are  now  sitting  there  is  to  be 
seen  beyond  all  cavil  or  rivalry,  the  finest  view  that 


DARJILING.  115 

exists  on  this  earth.  It  is  generally  a  waste  of 
time,  and  always  a  thankless  task,  to  attempt  to 
describe  a  view.  Nothing,  unless  indeed  one  has 
the  pen  of  a  Ruskin,  can  bring  home  to  the  reader 
more  than  a  mere  ghost  of  the  charm  of  any  land- 
scape. Yet  if  but  one  or  two  may  thus  be  induced 
to  take  the  risk — and  a  risk  it  is— and  make  the 
journey  from  Calcutta,  it  will  have  been  worth 
while  to  say  a  few  words.  There  is  always  the 
chance  and  often  the  certainty  of  cloudy  weather, 
and  many  of  Darjiling's  visitors  go  back  home 
without  having  seen  this  crowning  glory  of  India. 
But  such  an  evening  as  this  would  make  amends 
for  many  days  wasted  here  by  even  the  busiest  of 
globe-trotters. 

Far  beneath  one,  the  mountain-side  falls  almost 
perpendicularly,  though,  were  you  to  drop  from 
the  little  plateau,  you  would  be  caught  at  once 
in  the  rich  vegetation  that  springs  wherever  a 
seed  can  obtain  roothold  on  a  ledge  or  in  a  cleft. 
Three  thousand  feet  below,  the  valley  stretches 
out  ten  miles  wide  from  the  foot  of  the  precipice. 
At  this  distance  it  is  difficult  to  see  much  of  the 
detail  of  the  landscape,  though  one  realises  that, 
after  all,  there  has  not  been  entirely  lost  the  last  sign 

of  the  presence  of  man.     Lost  in  the  tangle  of  a 

8* 


u6  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

little  wood  there  is  the  flash  of  a  white  wall,  which, 
I  believe,  indicates  an  isolated  mission  station. 
As  the  crow  flies  it  must  be  four  or  five  miles 
away — half  lost  in  the  unkempt  patches  of  jungle 
which  still  dispute  possession  with  the  tea-fields. 
At  this  distance  the  tea  plantations  show  only  as 
regular  patches  of  even  green,  more  like  stretches 
of  turf  than  what  they  really  are.  Beyond  them, 
the  valley  seems  to  end  against  a  mountain  side 
which  is  probably  like  that  on  which  you  sit, 
though  even  in  this  clear  air  every  detail  is  at 
this  great  distance  hazed  about  with  blue.  In 
itself  this  view  would  make  the  reputation  of 
many  a  mountain  eyrie  in  Europe,  but  it  is  the 
way  in  which  the  walls  of  the  Himalayas  close  the 
panorama  with  a  thousand  deeply-cut  ravines  that 
lends  contrast  and  gives  it  a  particular  beauty  in 
the  distance.  Above  the  projection  of  lower  cliffs, 
which  seems  to  stop  with  curious  suddenness,  comes 
a  great  mass  of  treeless  rock,  indigo  and  ash  blue, 
in  the  fading  light.  As  the  eye  travels  upwards 
to  a  point  far  higher  than  that  on  which  you  sit, 
the  first  outposts  of  the  glacier  ice-field  are  dimly 
seen  thrusting  themselves  in  between  the  pinnacles 
and  curtains  of  rock  Still  the  eye  mounts,  and  at 
last  the  waste  of  Himalayan  ice  crowns  the  scene. 


DARJILING.  117 

Even  to  this  distance,  twenty  miles  away,  the 
frozen  and  untrodden  wilderness  throws  its  in- 
fluence. The  awful  cold  and  silence  of  that  blue- 
shadowed  desert  of  cavernous  white  ice  chills  you 
as  you  watch.  Rarely  indeed  does  some  projecting 
point  of  grey  rock  break  up  through  it,  though 
here  and  there  at  its  edges  it  washes  in  cold  hum- 
mocks up  against  the  stark  granite  walls  of  the 
mountain  range,  so  steep  that  neither  snow  nor 
ice  can  rest  upon  them.  There  is  a  lavender  haze 
over  it  in  which  details  of  ice-field  and  dark  rock 
alike  are  at  last  lost.  It  is  a  view  that  cannot  be 
paralleled  on  earth,  and  the  satisfied  eye  ranges 
downwards  again,  perhaps  traversing  with  the  quick- 
ness of  thought  the  aching  distances  that  stretch 
between  the  little  mission  building  and  the  grey 
distance  of  the  crowning  sky.  You  may  well  be 
satisfied  with  this,  and  if  the  day  be  a  little  overcast 
you  will  go  away  from  Darjiling,  feeling  that  in 
this  contrast  of  the  tropics  and  of  the  eternal  ice, 
you  have  seen  something  that  you  will  never 
forget. 

But  this  evening,  the  light  mists  that  over  the 
valley  hung  balanced  in  the  void  have  risen,  and  you 
will  see  something  more,  and  as  you  look  you 
will  hardly  believe  that  you  have  really  seen  it. 


ii8  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Up  above  the  grey  lavender  sky  that  crowns  the 
glacier-field,  up  in  mid-heaven,  up  where,  by  rights 
there  should  be  nothing  but  the  night  riding  stars 
and  constellations,  separate,  detached,  uncon- 
nected with  anything  on  earth,  there  rise  in  mid- 
heaven  the  rose-pink  ice  peaks  of  Kinchin junga. 
Fifty  miles  away,  yet  clearer  than  the  glacier- 
field  below  them,  the  crannies  and  clefts,  the  chairs 
and  pinnacles  of  Kinchinjunga  stand  out  in  pale 
crimson  glory  across  the  lavender  sky,  more  like 
some  heavenly  vision  of  an  old  painter  than  any- 
thing that  can  possibly  be  real  in  this  world. 
Motionless,  silent,  ethereal,  these  untrodden  peaks 
of  mystery  defy  for  ever  the  trespassing  foot  of 
man's  curiosity.  They  hold  the  colour  just  as 
a  great  ocean  shell  of  the  South  Seas  glows  daintily 
with  twenty  shades  of  pink.  For  us  the  sun  is 
now  set,  but  for  ten  minutes  you  may  still  watch 
from  the  thickening  ash  grey  shadows  of  your 
mountain  coign  the  set  scene,  immovably  fixed 
for  all  the  interplay  of  fading  rose.  Then  Kinchin- 
junga dies  out  again,  and  only  the  dark  starless 
patch  in  the  patined  sky  will  tell  you  all  night  that 
what  you  have  seen  is  no  mere  vision  or  delusion. 


lip 


Puri. 


IF  there  is  one  thing  more  than  another  which 
recalls  the  earliest  conception  which  childhood  ever 
acquired  of  the  mysteries  of  India,  I  suppose  it  is 
the  word  Jaganath.  I  remember  a  volume  of 
Tenniel's  cartoons,  in  one  of  which  there  was  a 
gruesome  picture  of  the  famous  car  being  dragged 
along  by  a  thousand  men,  while  from  under  its 
tyres  there  lengthened  a  ghastly  avenue  of  crushed 
and  mutilated  figures.  In  those  days,  before  the 
relentless  Hunter  came,  we  used  to  spell  it  Jugger- 
naut, but  the  pronunciation  is  the  same,  and  the 
thing  is  the  same.  Why  the  car  of  Jaganath 
should  in  particular  have  been  credited  with  man- 
slaying  qualities  I  do  not  know  ;  certain  it  is  that 
there  is  a  fine  car  in  the  temple  at  Puri  which  is 
regularly  used,  and  no  doubt  there  must  always  be  a 
number  of  willing  martyrs  within  the  ranks  of 
every  religion,  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the 
sheer  difficulty  of  maintaining  a  foothold  while  five 


120  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

hundred  men  are  struggling  round  one  to  help 
in  pulling  forward  the  ungainly  vehicle  accounts 
for  most,  if  not  all,  of  the  lives  lost  beneath  the 
wheels  of  the  car.  This  is  prosaic,  but  the  truth 
generally  is.  It  is  worth  while  to  go  to  Puri  and 
see  the  Temple  of  Jaganath.  It  is  only  a  little  more 
than  a  night's  run  from  Calcutta,  and  it  is  one  of 
the  prettiest  places  in  all  India.  You  can  go  by 
sea  if  you  like,  but  the  railway  now  runs  from 
Khurda  Road  to  Puri,  and  the  roadstead  is  unsafe 
for  vessels  in  even  the  slightest  gale. 

As  you  get  out  at  Puri  you  will  find  the  same 
chattering  crush  of  natives  intent  upon  their  own 
business — on  the  whole,  a  law-abiding  mob.  If  you 
are  wise  you  will  at  once  seize  one  of  the  rickety 
little  carriages  and  drive  off  through  the  sand  of  the 
roads  to  the  bungalow.  If  you  are  a  great  person 
the  Viceroy's  private  secretary  will  probably  have 
invited  you  to  make  use  of  the  official  Circuit 
House  during  your  stay  at  Puri.  As  a  rule  in 
India,  an  official  residence  is  to  be  preferred  to  a 
dak  bungalow,  but  in  this  case  the  two  are  side  by 
side,  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  a  pleasanter 
little  five-roomed  house  than  the  bungalow  at  Puri. 
It  is  built  lowV  down  upon  the  seashore.  In 
winter  the  returning  monsoon  must  dash  the  spray 


PURL  121 

against  the  very  walls  and  windows  of  this  little 
house  of  rest. 

As  I  sit  here  and  write,  the  long  soft  thunder 
of  the  sea  croons  eternally  in  the  ear,  and  on  either 
side  the  white  rolling  sand  dunes,  lightly  scattered 
with  green  grass  and  crowned  by  the  blue  line  of 
the  dimpling  sea,  run  south  and  north,  this  till  it 
is  hidden  by  the  Circuit  House,  that  till  it  is 
lost  in  a  little  venturesome  wood  of  stunted 
casuarinas.  The  cool  sea-breeze  is  wafted  into 
the  room — a  pleasant  change,  indeed,  from  the  hot 
and  dust-laden  airs  that  swirled  and  scattered  the 
dust  but  yesterday  in  Calcutta  streets.  One  can 
go  out  and  watch  the  incoming  waves.  There  are 
three  things  that  men  can  look  at  together  without 
feeling  the  need  of  speech,  yea,  four  things  that 
lull  our  human  desire  always  to  be  talking.  The 
rise  and  splash  of  the  fountain,  the  lick  and  play 
of  the  flame  above  the  tinkling  red  core  of  a  coal 
fire,  the  roll-over  and  "  lick-o'-the-lips  "  of  a  flag, 
and  the  lazy  nonchalance  and  gather-and-fall 
of  green  waves  at  the  seaside.  What  is  the  common 
source  of  quiet  sympathy  in  each  ?  A  lazy  and 
recurrent  motion  ;  but  why  that  should  have  the 
effect  it  does  is  not  easily  explained.  Why,  that  is, 
two  men  should  be  able  to  sit  and  smoke  in  silence 


122  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

before  a  fire  and  not  before  an  empty  grate  remains 
a  mystery. 

There  are  not  many  places  in  India  where  you 
can  watch  the  waves  swarming  in  upon  the  beach. 
At  Bombay  you  may  see  the  big  western  rollers 
smash  themselves  into  white  jewels  upon  the  rocks 
that  guard  the  end  of  Malabar  Point,  but  of  sand  or 
gravel  there  is  none.  No  one  ever  yet  went  to 
Diamond  Harbour  except  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
away  from  it  as  soon  as  possible.  Cochin  is  a 
sea  backwater,  where  little  three-inch  waves 
splutter  and  fuss  along  the  three-foot  rockery  that 
protects  the  Residency  lawn.  Quilon  is  all  bare 
rock,  relieved  here  and  there  by  little  enclosed 
slopes  of  white  sand.  Of  all  the  better  known 
places  of  India,  at  Puri  and  Madras  alone  can  one 
sit  on  the  shore  and  watch  the  familiar  English 
habits  of  the  oldest  of  our  friends— the  sea.  There 
is  something  of  home-sickness  in  the  lift  and  the 
poise  and  the  crash  and  the  spread  in  the  mono- 
tonous yet  infinite  variety  of  the  green  fresh  waves 
of  the  Bay  of  Bengal,  and  the  white  lace  which 
slips  down  the  inner  slope  of  the  green  wave  was 
surely  woven  by  sea  maidens  of  the  Dorsetshire 
coast.  One  hundred  yards  out  the  incoming 
combers  fret  themselves  upon  a  sandy  shallow, 


PURL  123 

and  a  momentary  flash  of  white  crests  the  edge  of  a 
breaking  shell  of  yellow.  I  daresay  the  sand-bank 
can  be  seen  at  low  tide.  There  is  a  well  on  the 
beach  fifty  yards  from  the  bungalow,  and  better 
water  is  not  drawn  in  India.  I  remember  a  man's 
story  of  how,  off  Muscat,  in  the  Persian  Gulf,  sailors 
obtain  fresh  water  in  the  middle  of  the  sea  by 
letting  down  bottles  to  fill  themselves  at  the  bottom, 
where  a  mighty  spring  hurls  itself  up  into  the  brine. 
I  daresay  it  is  true.  As  a  rule  the  Eastern  tales  which 
seem  most  false  are  the  truest,  the  likely  ones  are 
the  lies.  Anyway,  Tavernier  has  something  like  it. 
You  can  walk  over  the  sands  to  the  great  temple. 
There  is  a  stretch  of  perhaps  six  hundred  yards  of 
raw  fat-leaved  marine  plants  and  sandy  casuarina 
trees  before  you  defile  through  a  little  street  of 
flat-roofed  dilapidated  mud-cottages  with  mongrel 
dogs  alive  with  mange  snarling  or  sleeping  in  the 
sun,  and  reach  at  last  the  great  open  space  in 
front  of  the  temple.  On  either  side  of  you  the 
great  twenty-foot  wall  stretches  with  its  Ghibelline 
battlements,  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  perhaps 
in  length.  Up  against  it  are  huddled  innumerable 
little  shops  and  shanties.  In  the  centre,  thrown 
forward  twenty  yards,  is  the  famous  black  pillar. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  beautifully  worked  things 


I24  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

in  India.  From  a  plinth  of  half  a  dozen  courses, 
beautifully  recessed  and  diapered  with  a  pattern 
of  conventional  beasts  and  ornament,  rises  the 
thirty-foot  shaft  of  fluted  black  marble,  terminated 
by  a  plain  capital  almost  Doric  in  its  simplicity, 
whereon  a  tiny  figure  of  the  Dawn  sits  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  ludicrous  disproportion  between 
itself  and  its  majestic  pedestal.  Immediately 
behind  it  is  the  great  gate  of  the  temple  itself, 
flanked  on  either  side  with  somewhat  substantial 
houses.  You  may  go  up  to  the  gate  if  you  like, 
but  no  white  man,  living  or  dead,  has  ever  gone 
through  it.  Even  Lord  Curzon,  who,  for  half 
a  dozen  reasons,  had  a  better  claim  than  anyone 
else,  and  who  had  made  a  journey  from  Calcutta 
specially  to  see  the  interior  of  the  temple,  was 
politely  but  firmly  refused  admission.  Nay,  more 
extraordinary  still,  the  Grand  Lama  of  Tashi- 
Lhunpo,  the  living  reincarnation  of  the  very 
Buddha,  of  Him  who  was,  according  to  the  later 
Hindu  faith,  no  less  than  the  ninth  and  latest 
manifestation  of  Vishnu  himself,  was  this  year 
privately  warned  that  he  would  not  be  allowed 
within  the  gates  of  Vishnu's  greatest  shrine. 
This  is  all  very  mysterious.  Moreover,  you  will 
hardly  get  a  consistent  account  of  the  temple 


PURL  125 

interior   even   from   a  native   who   has  repeatedly 
visited  it. 

Of  one  thing  there  is  no  doubt  whatever,  and  for 
this  reason  alone  the  temple  of  Jaganath  at  Puri 
has   an   interest   and   a   significance   which   attach 
to  no  other  spot  in  India.     The  rules  of  caste  in 
India  are  more  binding  far  than  the  laws  of  the 
Medes    and    the    Persians.     Even    a    globe-trotter 
can  hardly  fail  to  notice,  in  his  butterfly  zigzags 
about    this    country,    that    time    and    civilisation 
have  not  relaxed  in  the  slightest  degree  the  stern 
and  unbending  rules  which    separate,  in    life    and 
in   death,  the    members  of    one  caste  from  those 
of  even  the  next  above  it  or  the  next  below.      His 
attention  will  probably  be  called  to  it  first  by  his 
bearer's  incomprehensible   explanation   of  why   he 
could  not  obtain  his  food  at  a  certain  place,  and 
his  demand  of  half  a  day's  holiday  that  he  may 
tramp  a  mile  to  buy  or  eat  among  his  own  people. 
Nay,  the  truth  is  that  the  spread  of  civilisation  has 
rather  tightened  than  relaxed  these  relentless  bands, 
though   missionaries   are   loath   to    admit   it.     For 
with  civilisation  snobbishness  ever  walks  hand  in 
hand ;  and,  incongruous  though  it  may  seem,  the 
chief   manner   in   which   we   have   affected   Indian 
domestic  relations  is  by  fostering  an  increase,  not 


126  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

a  decrease,  of  their  social  distinctions.  We  have 
encouraged  even  the  lowest  in  caste  to  hope  for 
some  token  of  social  distinction,  some  precedence 
which  fifty  years  ago  was  undreamed  of.  The  seed 
thus  sown  has  borne  strange  fruit  far  outside  the 
administrative  and  military  services.  We  have 
introduced  snobbishness  into  the  East.  The  easiest 
way  in  India  for  a  man  to  claim  a  status  one  degree 
higher  than  that  to  which  he  has  a  right,  is  by 
observing  regulations,  both  positive  and  negative, 
from  which,  as  a  member  of  the  lower  caste,  he  had 
been  hitherto  exempt.  From  one  end  of  India  to 
the  other  there  has  been  of  late  years  a  noticeable 
willingness  on  the  part  of  a  lower  caste  to  suffer  the 
disabilities  of  one  somewhat  higher  in  the  scale.* 
Enormous  sums  of  money  have  been  given  by 
wealthy  low-caste  Madrassis  for  a  fleeting  associa- 
tion with  a  Brahmin. 

Now  in  Puri  all  caste  vanishes. 

The  significance  of  this  can  be  understood  only 
by  those  who  know  India.  This  absolute  reversal 
of  all  that  is  most  sacred  to  India  gives  to  Puri  a 


*  We  may  smile  at  the  social  ambitions  of  the  guileless  native  but  it  after  all 
is  the  same  all  the  world  over,  even  among  the  professionally  unworldly  classes. 
There  are  few  bishops  of  the  Church  of  Rome  who  are  to-day  content  to  display 
a  hat  with  six  tassels,  and  few  archbishops  who  do  not  claim  the  fifteen  which  by 
right  should  be  borne  by  a  Cardinal  alone. 


PURL  127 

meaning    which    will,    perhaps,    never    be    wholly 
understood  by  any  European.     In  Southern  India 
there  is  indeed  something  a  little  like  it.     Once  a 
year,   during    a   festival — a   spring  festival,    which 
corresponds  roughly  with  the  Saturnalia  of  ancient 
Rome,  with  certain  curiously  indecent  rites — caste 
is  also  forgotten  for  the  night.     But  here  in  Puri 
we  have  a  place  where,  year  in  and  year  out,  this 
extraordinary    religious    socialism    is    not    merely 
tolerated  but  an  imperative  custom.     Nothing  can 
be  more  significant  than  the  fact  that  the  guardian 
and  head  of   this  most  holy  Hindu  temple   is   the 
Raja    of    Khurda,  who,   by  hereditary  and    inevi- 
table descent,  is  a  sweeper,  the  lowest  of  the  recog- 
nised castes. 

The  story  of  the  founding  of  the  Temple  of 
Jaganath  is  odd.  Once  upon  a  time,  in  the  days 
of  Indra-mena,  King  of  Orissa,  he  was  told  to  go 
to  the  seashore  at  Puri,  and  there  dig  for  the  long 
lost  temple  of  Vishnu.  It  was  buried  nine  miles 
deep  in  the  sand  of  the  shore.  He  found  it,  how- 
ever, and  then  covered  it  up  again.  This  he  must 
have  done  with  regret  as  the  temple  was  made  of 
solid  gold.  Instead,  he  built  the  present  temple, 
and  when  it  was  finished  Vishnu  himself  in  the  form 
of  a  log  was  washed  ashore  according  to  promise. 


128  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Then  Visvakarma,  the  Divine  Fashioner,  was  sent 
for,  to  carve  the  log  into  the  semblance  of  the  god. 
This  he  consented  to  do  on  condition  that  no  one 
watched  him  at  work.  Indra-mena,  however,  could 
not  overcome  the  temptation  and  peeped  in  through 
the  chink  of  a  door.  So  Visvakarma  re-packed  his 
tool-bag  and  went  away  in  a  huff,  Divine  Fashioner 
though  he  was,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  the 
image  was  never  finished.  If  you  do  not  believe  it, 
you  can  go  to  the  tank  and  ask  the  world-old  turtle 
that  helped  Indra-mena  and  still  expects  offerings. 

Once  a  year  this  extraordinary,  rudely-hacked 
log  is  carried  in  procession  to  the  Garden  House 
upon  the  famous  car,  which  is  thirty-five  feet 
square  and  runs  upon  sixteen  wheels.  Over  four 
thousand  men  pull  at  the  ropes,  and  smaller 
cars  follow  after  with  similarly  crude  representa- 
tions of  the  brother  and  sister  of  Jaganath.  The 
road  along  which  the  car  passes  is  a  wide  thorough- 
fare, which  is  completely  full  with  pilgrims  upon 
this  annual  ceremony.  The  Garden  House,  to 
which  the  idols  are  then  taken,  is  a  building  orna- 
mented in  a  manner  of  which  Exeter  Hall  would 
not  approve.  There  are  a  score  of  other  holy 
festivals  in  the  year,  all  of  which  are  connected 
with  this  ugly  log.  The  most  famous  is  perhaps 


The  Temple  of  Jaganath/J'uri. 


[Facing  page  128. 


PURL  129 

that  upon  which  the  three  images  are  ceremonially 
bathed  within  the  temple.  After  this  they  are 
dressed  in  splendid  robes  such  as  are  traditionally 
ascribed  to  Rama,  and  elephants'  trunks  are 
attached  to  their  faces.  This  is  probably  an 
ascription  of  wisdom  to  Jaganath,  but  even  the  most 
learned  pundits  are  at  a  loss  to  explain  many  of  the 
ceremonies  connected  with  Puri.  The  truth  is 
that  the  more  intelligent  Brahmins  are  well  aware 
of  the  inconsistencies  and  follies  of  many  of  their 
traditions,  and  those  who  know  the  Hindu  religion 
best  will  be  the  first  to  admit  that  satisfactory  infor- 
mation as  to  the  origin  of  many  of  its  ceremonies 
has  long  ceased  to  be  forthcoming  in  India. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  the  curious  connection 
of  Buddhism  with  the  worship  of  Vishnu  to  which 
I  have  referred  is  responsible  for  some  at  least  of  the 
anomalies.  The  swastika  and  the  conch,  both  in- 
timately connected  with  Northern  Buddhism,  are 
prominent  ornaments  upon  the  outer  walls  of  the 
temple,  and  it  is  said  that  the  car  festival  is  a 
commemoration  of  Buddha's  birthday. 

All  round  the  central  square  of  the  town — 
that  is,  the  space  in  the  centre  of  which  the 
temple  is  placed — there  are  quarters  for  different 
trades.  To  the  left  of  the  main  entrance  you  may 

9 


130  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

buy  saris.  On  the  northern  side,  to  the  east,  are 
the  fruit-sellers,  and  to  the  west  are  the  makers 
of  brass  pots.  Opposite  the  west  wall  of  the  temple 
is  a  three-storied  house  from  which  a  fairly  good 
view  may  be  had  of  what  lies  within  the  forbidden 
exterior  wall. 

The  central  spire  of  the  temple  of  Jaganath  rises 
to  a  height  of  one  hundred  and  ninety-two  feet ; 
an  estimate  which  includes  the  great  wheel-finial 
of  Vishnu,  which  is  obviously  nothing  else  than 
Buddha's  Wheel  of  the  Law.  It  is  said  to  be  nearly 
nine  hundred  years  old,  and  this  may  be  true  of 
the  interior  of  the  temple,  but  it  is  clear  at  a  glance 
that  the  hand  of  the  restorer  has  played  havoc 
with  the  gates  and  surface-decorations  throughout. 
It  is  not  uninteresting  to  remember  that  within 
this  great  edifice  there  still  go  on  ceremonies  and 
services  in  honour  of  the  deity  which,  it  is  suffi- 
ciently well  known,  for  primitive  indecency  and 
unrestrained  orgies  far  surpass  anything  else  in 
Indian  temples  of  which  rumour  tells.  But  nothing 
is  ever  known  outside  the  walls  of  the  temple. 
You  may  hear  from  time  to  time  the  long-drawn 
scream  of  a  brass  trumpet  or  the  continual  sodden 
thumping  of  a  drum,  but  that  is  all.  Never  is  there 
a  sign  outside  the  walls  of  this  thrice  holy  shrine  of 


PURL  131 

anything  but  the  usual  crowding  and  chattering 
groups  or  counter-streams  of  native  workers  or 
loafers  which  thicken  as  the  afternoon  wears  on,  and 
news  of  the  trivial  events  of  the  day  are  exchanged 
in  the  market-place.  So,  after  you  have  looked  at 
all  that  you  may  see,  you  will  be  glad  enough  to  go 
back  to  the  bungalow  and  sit  out  the  sunset.  For 
temples  are  plentiful  and  gods  are  many ;  but  this 
little  beach  where  the  wavelets  tumble  will  give 
you  a  touch  of  England  that  is  rare  indeed  in 
India. 


The  Image  of  Jaganath, 
by  a  Native  Artist. 


132 


Rangoon. 


BURMA  sends  her  scouts  far  afield.  Long  before 
Cape  Negrais  comes  in  sight  the  dull,  opaque  green 
of  the  sea  betrays,. as  surely  as  ever  did  the  floating 
vegetation  of  the  Caribbean  Sea  to  Columbus,  the 
near  presence  of  one  of  the  huge  mud-saturated 
streams  of  the  world.  The  dark,  almost  black, 
carpet  that  all  the  way  from  Calcutta  has  streamed 
and  swirled  and  clouded  into  aquamarine  beside 
our  prow,  now  deepens  into  olive  and  runs  through 
all  the  gamut  of  embrowning  green  till  the  last 
suggestion  of  fair  water  is  lost  in  a  flood  more 
turbid  than  ever  poured  out  seawards  between  the 
sterlings  of  London  Bridge.  So  heavily  charged 
with  alluvial  deposits  is  the  water  of  this  great 
sea-arm,  that  an  ordinary  bath  on  board  ship  in 
the  Gulf  of  Martaban  is  out  of  the  question.  In 
this  domestic  way  one  is  prepared  for  the  long  flat 
delta  of  the  Irrawaddy,  backed,  in  the  far  distance, 
by  the  violet  combings  of  its  southward  trending 


A  Burmese  monastery. 


[Facing  page  132. 


RANGOON.  133 

ranges.  Rangoon  lies  some  hours  upstream,  and 
up  against  the  turbid  yellow  flood  the  steamer 
ploughs  for  half  a  morning,  doubling  and  redoub- 
ling again  and  again  upon  its  course. 

It  is  a  dull  landscape,  and  one  notices  the  more 
readily,  now  far  away  to  starboard,  now  almost 
at  the  port  beam,  now  straight  ahead,  a  little  white 
flame  like  that  of  an  oil  lamp.  Except  the  scrub 
that  comes  down  to  the  river  banks  and  a  few 
stranded  settlements  of  trees  that  here  and  there 
group  themselves  around  a  crumbling  pagoda, 
there  is  no  other  object  in  all  the  horizon.  Three 
hours  before  Rangoon  is  reached  the  tiny  argent 
tongue  teases  the  horizon,  quivering  gently  in  the 
sun  and  the  rippling  mirage  ;  little  by  little  the  jet 
of  light  resolves  itself  into  a  flame  of  steady  gold, 
and  at  last  it  rises  before  us  clear  to  view,  a  glitter- 
ing peak,  five  hundred  feet  above  the  river  level, 
springing  clear  from  the  centre  of  the  crowded  busy 
town  and  smoking  chimneys  of  Rangoon.  It 
dominates  the  capital  and  everything  around  it 
for  fifty  miles  ;  it  is  Rangoon  itself  ;  it  is  southern 
Buddhism  ;  it  is  the  most  picturesque  thing  in  all 
the  East,  and  until  you  go  you  will  have  eyes  for 
nothing  else.  It  is  the  Shwe  Dagon. 

The  gulls  follow  us  up  the  river   as   we   churn 


134  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

through  the  thickening  mud ;  they  flap  behind  us 
on  wings  too  strong  for  their  little  cigar-like  bodies  ; 
they    are    shaken   by   every    stroke    like   an   over- 
engined    torpedo-boat.     Now    and    then    they    do 
some  trick-fishing  out  of  sheer  vanity,  for  no  self- 
respecting   gull   could   really   like    the    mud-eating 
little  whitebait  that  alone  thrive  in  these  waters. 
As  a  mere  matter  of  curiosity,  I  tested  the  dirti- 
ness of  the  stream  :  a  pencil  dipped  in  it  vanished 
completely  from  the  point  of  contact.     It  reminded 
me  more  of  a  wheel-fouled  puddle  along  the  line 
of  march  in  the  South  African  war  than  anything 
else.     At  last  the  Hastings  shoal  is  reached,  and  the 
far-spread,  dull  towers  and  chimneys  of  Rangoon  lie 
out  before  us  right  and  left.     For  here  are  the  works 
of  the  Burma  Oil  Company  planted,  and  the  heavy 
smoke-wreaths    from    their    clustered    stacks    are 
only   too   well   reinforced  by   those   of   the   cotton 
factories    along    the    river    banks.     It    is    a    sharp 
contrast,    as,    except   for   manufacturing   purposes, 
no  chimney  is  ever  built  upon  the  shores  of  the 
Irrawaddy.     Except    in    the    lines    of    the    drifting 
smoke  the  air  is  as  sharp  and  clear  as  anywhere 
in  Asia,  and  the  thin,  bituminous  veil  which  fades 
slowly  down  to  leeward  has  its  own  curious  value  in 
this   eastern   landscape ;    certainly   it   throws   into 


RANGOON.  135 

higher  relief  the  clearly-defined  splendour  of  the 
Shwe  Dagon. 

The  temple  rises  upon  a  roughly-cornered  and 
well-wooded  platform  of  rock  one  hundred  and 
eighty  feet  above  the  sea.  Once  upon  a  time  this 
splendid  pedestal  was  a  surf-beaten  islet  far 
out  at  sea  ;  if  we  may  take  as  gospel  the  stories 
that  cling  about  it,  it  must  have  been  to  an 
islani  refuge  that  Gautama's  predecessor  came. 
For  the  claim  to  sanctity  of  the  Shwe  Dagon  does 
not  rest  upon  its  connection  with  Prince  Gautama 
alone.  Three  thousand  years  before — some  say 
twenty  thousand  and  some  do  not  scruple  to  add 
another  similar  period,  and  yet  another  incarnation 
to  its  long  tradition — the  predecessors  of  the  Lord 
Buddha  left  here  some  mortal  relics  upon  which 
the  first  pagoda  was  reared.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
in  its  present  shape  it  is  a  vast  hand-bell  of  gold, 
three  hundred  feet  in  height,  planted  upon  a  cruci- 
form base  of  many  degrees,  forty  feet  above  the 
surface  of  the  rock. 

Just  where  the  handle  joins  the  bell  there  is  a 
strongly-cut  band  of  lotus  ornament  in  low  relief, 
and  above  it,  near  the  top,  just  where  the  palm 
would  lose  its  grip,  is  a  belt  of  silver  bosses  that 
glitter  like  diamonds  in  the  sun  ;  and  at  the  very 


136  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

height  is  a  "  htee,"  composed  in  the  usual  way  of  a 
formal  umbrella  of  golden  rings  from  which,  on 
interlacing  chains,  hundreds  of  leaf-clappered  bells 
of  jewelled  gold  and  silver  hang.  Above  it,  set 
against  the  moving  clouds,  is  a  vane  of  pure  gold. 
In  this  htee  and  vane  are  inset  rubies  which  would 
fetch  a  hundred  thousand  pounds  at  Christie's. 
For  many  years  all  underneath  this  htee  was  gilded 
with  gold-leaf,  but  as  this  involved  a  recurrent 
expense,  of  which  the  scaffolding  demanded  an 
even  greater  proportion  than  the  gold,  the  trustees 
of  the  Shw6  Dagon  decided,  in  the  interests  of 
economy,  to  abandon  the  gold-leaf  and — to  plate 
the  handle  of  the  Shwe*  Dagon  with  sheets  of  solid 
gold !  So  far  the  upper  seventy  feet  has  been 
completed,  at  a  cost  which  is  probably  known  to 
the  trustees  and  to  the  Lieutenant-Governor  alone. 
Each  sheet  is  about  the  size  of  a  folio  page,  and  in 
thickness  it  is  about  half  that  of  a  threepenny 
piece.  Conceive  what  this  means.  Conceive  the 
sanctity  which  suggested  and  the  wealth  which 
rendered  possible  this  gigantic  expenditure  upon  a 
matter  of  decorum  only.  But  there  is  only  one 
Shwe  Dagon,  and  what  Lhasa  is  to  the  northern 
Buddhists  among  their  wild  and  bare  mountain 
passes,  that  Rangoon  is  to  the  far  smaller,  but  also 


A  corner  in  a  monastery  compound. 


[Facing  page  136. 


RANGOON.  137 

far    richer,    community   of   the   southern   followers 
of  the  Master. 

About  1854,  as  the  result  of  a  persistent  rumour 
that  the  centre  of  the  Shw6  Dagon  was  hollowed 
out  and  was  used  as  a  treasure-house  for  the  im- 
mense hoards  of  the  Buddhist  hierarchy,  an  English 
engineer  drove  a  narrow  shaft  through  the  base  of 
the  pagoda.  Nothing  of  value  was  found,  not 
even  an  empty  chamber,  but  as  the  shaft  was 
pierced  farther  and  farther  into  the  interior,  shell 
within  shell  of  earlier  Shwe  Dagons  was  found, 
till  when  the  centre  was  reached  no  fewer  than 
seven  layers  had  been  disclosed  by  the  pick.  The 
present  building,  which  is,  so  to  speak,  the  latest, 
and  probably  the  last  coat  of  this  architectural 
onion,  was  finished  about  1564.  It  stands,  as  has 
been  said,  on  a  levelled  hill-top  ;  there  is  a  clear 
space  all  round  it,  such  as  is  always  needed  for  the 
processional  lustrations  of  the  Buddhist  faith  ;  but 
closely  pressing  in  upon  this  ambulatory  is  a  forest 
of  smaller  shrines,  jostling  each  other  like  the 
houses  of  a  city.  Some  are  of  Burmese  mirror- 
mosaic,  some  of  solid  stone  or  plaster,  roughly 
resembling  the  Shwe  Dagon  itself  ;  some  are  like 
Indian  chaityas,  and  a  few  are  but  rude  shapes  of 
sunburnt  and  plastered  brick.  But  the  vast 


138  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

majority  are  made  of  exquisitely  and  intricately 
carved  teak.  None  of  them  attain  a  greater  height 
than  a  hundred  feet,  except  the  four  great  tasounds 
which,  at  the  four  points  of  the  compass,  rise  from 
the  plinth  of  the  Shwe  Dagon  and  give  pretended 
access  to  the  giant. 

Trees  of  all  kinds  flourish  here  ;  cocoanuts  lift 
their  feathery  heads  among  the  gilded  filigree  of 
the  smaller  pagodas ;  canary-trees,  with  their 
varicose  trunks,  afford  refuge  for  scores  of  banked- 
up  little  shrines  ;  and  in  many  places,  of  course,  the 
sacred  fig-tree  grows  and  flourishes  exceedingly. 
To  gain  access  to  this  platform  there  were  originally 
four  great  stairways.  One  was  blocked  up  by 
ourselves  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century  for 
strategical  purposes  at  the  time  of  our  first  occupa- 
tion of  Rangoon  ;  of  the  others,  two  are  of  minor 
importance,  and  that  facing  south  is  now  the  great 
avenue  of  approach.  These  famous  stone  steps, 
worn  to  ice-like  slipperiness  by  the  traversings  of 
many  million  footfalls,  make  a  fair  entrance  to  the 
holy  place.  Two  huge  whitewashed  leogryphs  stand 
guardian  on  the  level  of  the  road  outside.  Behind 
them  a  new  carved  roofing  of  teak  conducts  the 
pious  pilgrim  under  shelter  to  the  iron  gate  of  the 
stairs  themselves.  From  this  gate  the  steps  ascend 


RANGOON.  139 

in  semi-darkness.  Overhead  are  barbaric  painted 
beams  and  carved  brackets  as  roof  succeeds  to  roof. 
On  both  sides,  between  the  rough  and  greasy 
columns  which  support  them,  shops  have  been 
made  and  sometimes  houses  built  in. 

The  arcade  thus  formed  is  one  of  the  most  in- 
teresting thoroughfares  of  the  East.  There  seems 
almost  nothing  that  is  not  sold  here.  Toys  of  a 
hundred  sorts  are  there,  books  of  gold-leaf,  gar- 
lands and  strings  of  champak  flowers  and  marigolds, 
sweets,  and  confectionery,  European  picture-books 
and  native  drawings  sometimes  of  a  most  devotional 
and  repulsive  type,  lengths  of  cotton  dyed  in  every 
hue  known  to  the  spectroscope,  gilt  caps  for  children, 
shoes,  umbrellas,  fruit  of  every  kind,  candles  of 
many  kinds — it  is  a  street  in  itself.  But  the  colours 
of  the  wares  are  eclipsed  by  those  worn  by  the 
moving  crowds.  The  Burmese  are  a  sun-loving 
race,  and  the  poorest  wears  silk.  Here  is  a  man 
with  a  black-paper  umbrella  that  is  almost  an 
inspiration  of  taste — the  rest  of  him  is  clad  in 
voluminous  folds  of  old-gold  silk.  He  is  a  phoung- 
yee,  or  Buddhist  monk.  Last  year  he  may  have 
been  a  thriving  manufacturer  on  the  Strand  of 
Rangoon  :  next  year  he  may  be  there  again.  Mean- 
while, his  head  shaven,  he  adopts  the  beggar's  life 


140  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

and  joins  at  his  appointed  time  in  the  muttered 
prayers  that  all  day  and  all  night  ascend  on  incense 
fumes  beneath  the  temple  roofs  of  the  Shwe  Dagon. 
There  is  a  young  woman,  with  neatly-coiled  black 
hair,  a  myrtle-green  jacket,  and  a  kind  of  bath- 
towel  skirt  of  copper  silk.     Here  is  a  white-clad 
Hindu,  there  a  blue  and  white  Mohammedan,  both 
drawn  hither  on  as  idle  a  bent  as  yourself.     A  child 
runs  up  and  offers  a  trifling  gift,   a  cowrie  or  a 
flower;  she  does  not  want  your  quarter-annas,  but 
takes  them  with  a  delightful  prudery.     A  bridal  pro- 
cession, with  braying  horns,  blocks  the  way,  and 
perhaps,  in  the  foreigner's  honour,  the  comedians  of 
the  show  will  give  some  burlesque  impromptu  as 
they    pass.     Chinese    and    Japanese    frequent    the 
platform.     The  former  will  make  sure  by  a  mut- 
tered prayer ;  the  latter  ape  the  European  in  his 
patronising  disinterestedness.     A  leper  crawls  along 
to  your  side  and  asks  an  alms.     If  you  give  it,  you 
will  have  no  more  peace,  for  these  maimed  and 
footless  wretches,  though  in  aspect  they  are  but  a 
bunch  of  disfigured  and  knotted  limbs,  will  sling 
themselves  from  all  quarters  along  the  ground  beside 
you  as  fast  as  you  can  walk,  and  you  will  eventu- 
ally have  to  seek  relief  from  their  day-long  perse- 
cution in  flight. 


i 
& 


RANGOON.  141 

There  is  much  to  see  round  the  platform.  Per- 
haps the  story  of  the  great  bell  is  worth  re-telling. 
When  Rangoon  was  first  captured  by  us,  some 
worthy  soul  thought  that  it  was  fitting  that  the 
second  largest  bell  in  the  world* — it  weighs  over  forty 
tons — should  find  a  home  in  London.  With  infinite 
pains  and  the  use  of  the  most  recent  machinery, 
it  was  brought  down  from  the  Shwe  Dagon,  put  on 
board  a  special  lighter,  and — by  an  accident — 
dropped  overboard  in  mid-stream.  The  ingenuity 
of  the  West  was  vainly  taxed  in  trying  to  raise  it 
from  the  river  bed.  Derricks,  cranes,  jacks,  wind- 
lasses, donkey-engines,  levers,  diving  suits — every- 
thing was  used,  and  used  in  vain.  It  was  im- 
possible, and  at  last  it  was  decided  that  no  more 
money  and  trouble  should  be  wasted  on  the  task. 
Some  months  later  a  little  company  of  yellow-robed 
monks  came  down  from  the  Shwe  Dagon  with  a 
petition  to  the  Governor.  If  they  could  raise  the 
bell  by  their  own  efforts  might  they  keep  it  ?  The 
Governor  laughed  immoderately,  and  promptly 
wrote  a  special  permission  on  those  lines.  It  made 
the  joke  of  a  week  in  Rangoon.  But  not  for  more 
than  the  week.  The  little  Burmans  came  to  the 

*  The  broken  and  earthbound  mass  of  metal  at  the  Kremlin  cannot  [compete 
with  these  real  bells  of  Burma. 


I42  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

river  bank  and  burnt  incense  and  prayed  a  while. 
Then  they  set  out  on  two  great  rafts  and  put  their 
poor  tackle  of  rope  and  bamboo-sticks  together 
— and  up  came  the  bell,  and  there  it  is  to  this  day 
under  the  two  o'clock  shadow  of  the  great  pagoda. 

But,  interesting  as  the  hours  of  sunlight  are, 
night  is  the  time  to  see  the  Shwe  Dagon.  There 
is  then  a  charm  about  the  huge  plain,  golden 
pinnacle,  centring  the  darkened  forest  of  teak  and 
irresponsive  glass  mosaic,  which  defies  analysis. 
Partly  it  may  be  the  contrast,  partly  also  the 
colour,  partly  the  just  waving  crests  of  the  cocoa- 
nuts,  partly  the  faint,  ever-present  tinkle  from  the 
jewelled  bells  a  hundred  yards  and  more  above 
our  heads.  Partly,  perhaps,  it  is  the  quietude, 
that  is  helped,  rather  than  hindered,  by  the  blessed 
mutter  of  the  Buddhist  mass,  where,  round  a  gutter- 
ing yellow  candle,  a  small  knot  of  monks  sit  inton- 
ing, their  faces  and  their  golden  robes  thrown  into 
Rembrandtesque  relief.  Every  fantastic  tale  that 
ever  was  told  chimes  in  now  to  your  exceeding 
liking,  and  even  the  monstrous  leogryphs  at  every 
corner  ache  again  with  the  breaking  heart  of  their 
prototype.  The  gold  leaf  on  the  bd-trees'  trunks 
gleams  fitfully,  and  one  facet  from  the  crown  of  a 
forgotten  shrine  flares  out  a  point  of  ruby  or 


RANGOON.  143 

emerald  from  the  peopled  darkness.  The  scent  of 
thick  incense  reeks  from  a  newly-filled  censer, 
where  a  brighter  glow  than  usual  silhouettes  the 
seated  worshippers. 

Overhead  the  movement  of  the  faint  white  gauze 
of  cloud  makes  the  darkened  htee  rock  in  heaven, 
and  a  far  dog's  bark  sounds  clear.     There  are  half 
a   dozen   cheap  orange   and  red  lanterns  round  a 
swelling  tree  bole  that  has  grown  painfully  round 
and  enclosed  a  marble  Buddha.     The  upper  glint 
of  whitened  moon-lit  gold  vane  cuts  deep  into  side- 
long Orion  ;  even  now  it  seems  to  belong  rather  to  a 
mariner  at   sea  thirty  miles  away,  than  to  oneself 
—by  day  it  is  all  his.     And  the  last  and  most  per- 
manent memory  one    carries  away  from  Rangoon 
is  that  of  this  silent  and  austere  sentinel,  surrounded 
by  a  cluster  of  lesser  and  ornate  shrines,  cleaving 
his  way  upward  to  the  dark  purple  sky,  careless 
of  their  attendance,  careless  of  the  incense  and  the 
muttered  prayers,  but  mystically  absorbed  in  the 
far-distant  sea,  and  perhaps  also  in  those  far-dis- 
tant hills  on  which  the  waves  broke  when  the  first 
of  the  legendary  Buddhas  halted  for  refuge  on  this 
lonely  sea-encircled  rock  which  is  now  the  platform 
of  the  Shwe  Dagon. 


144 


Mandalay . 


THERE  are  towns  in  this  world  whose  very  names 
are  interesting.  Wholly  apart  from  their  history, 
the  mere  syllables  -of  their  titles  arrest  attention, 
and  one  is  more  willing  to  hear  idle  matters  con- 
cerning them  than  reports  of  interest  about  other 
less-favoured  cities.  It  is  easy,  without  taking 
thought,  to  suggest  a  round  dozen  of  such  places. 
One  may  see  by  the  first  name  that  it  is  no  question 
of  the  intrinsic  beauty  or  wealth  or  importance 
of  the  town,  for  Byzantium  has  an  interest  to  which 
Constantinople  can  lay  no  claim.  Others  are 
Ravenna,  Santa  Cruz  and  Throndhjem,  Cairo, 
Monterey  and  Samarkand,  Baghdad,  La  Guayra 
and  Bamborough,  Aleppo  perhaps,  certainly  Cadiz, 
Lhasa,  and  Carcassonne.  Of  this  company  is  Man- 
dalay. Long  before  it  was  wedded  to  a  popular 
song  the  sound  of  Mandalay's  name  promised  great 
things  of  Oriental  mystery,  barbarism,  and  colour. 
Fifty  years  ago  stray  messengers  from  the  Court  of 


Chi  tor. 


[See  page  2(\ 


Mandalay. 


|  racing  page  144. 


MANDALAY.  145 

Burma  had  already  been  despatched  so  far  as  to 
London,  and  their  accounts  of  King  Mindon's 
magnificence  were  supported  by  the  tales  of  the 
rare  travellers  who  had  ventured  so  far  inland. 

There  is,  by  the  way,  a  tale  of  one  of  these  envoys 
who  returned  to  Burma  from  a  visit  to  London. 
The  King  asked  him  whether  the  Europeans  had 
any  such  fine  architecture  as  Mandalay  could 
boast.  The  envoy,  to  whom  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment had  seemed  too  splendid  to  be  real,  and  the 
Crystal  Palace  like  the  unsubstantial  fabric  of  a 
dream,  was  sorely  perplexed  how  to  give  such  a  truth- 
ful answer  as  would  not  offend  his  master.  After  a 
moment's  hesitation,  he  replied,  "  Your  Universal 
Majesty  must  remember  that  these  barbarians 
who  inhabit  the  uttermost  parts  of  your  Majesty's 
planet  live  in  so  painful  and  chilly  a  climate  that  I 
did  not  see  even  one  teak  tree  in  their  land  such 
as  Burma  produces  in  millions  for  the  great  buildings 
of  Mandalay." 

The  style  and  title  of  the  Kings  of  Burma  ran 
in  a  manner  which  even  the  Shah  of  Persia  would 
deem  vainglorious,  and  it  is  all  a  part  and  parcel 
of  this  arrogance  of  place  that  the  central  spire 
of  the  palace,  that  which  canopies  the  Lion  Throne 
itself,  is  to  this  day  popularly  called  the  "  Centre 

10 


146  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

of  the  Universe "  in  Mandalay.*  The  argument 
is  easy  to  follow.  That  which  is  the  centre  of 
the  palace,  and  therefore  of  Mandalay — for  the 
present  bazaars  near  the  railway  station  are  of 
English  construction — must  needs  be  the  centre 
also  of  Burma,  of  the  earth,  and  therefore  of  the 
celestial  satellites  also,  which  plainly  revolve  all 
night  round  the  seat  of  the  King  of  the  Burmese. 

The  throne  itself  is  a  handsome  gilt  projection 
from  the  inner  palace  wall  into  the  throne  room.  It 
is  raised  several  feet  from  the  floor,  and  can  be 
entered  only  from  the  back — a  little  extra  touch  of 
dramatic  effect,  that  one  is  confident  would  have 
been  adopted  by  Napoleon  had  he  ever  heard  of  it. 
Its  name  is  derived  from  some  score  of  small 
golden  lions,  which  originally  occupied  the  courses 
of  the  empty  niches  of  the  pedestal.  The  capture 
of  the  city  and  palace  by  the  English  troops  is  re- 
sponsible for  their  absence,  and,  as  not  one  of  them 
has  ever  been  since  recovered,  the  probability  is  that 
the  figures  were — as  the  Burmese  asserted — actually 
made  of  solid  gold,  which  the  looters  preferred,  for 
obvious  reasons,  to  melt  down  as  soon  as  possible. 

The  palace  of  Mandalay  lies  centrally  within 
the  four-square  walls  of  the  fort.  To  the  east 

*  At  the  present  moment  it  is  being  entirely  rebuilt. 


MANDALAY.  147 

was  the  King's  residence ;  to  the  west  that  of 
the  Queen  and  the  harem  generally.  Until  the 
last  year  or  two  the  apartments  in  which  these 
favourites  lived  were  used  as  the  guest  house, 
and  I  well  remember  staying  in  one  of  them  some 
years  ago.  It  was  a  detached  house,  to  the  only 
floor  of  which  one  climbed  by  a  wide  ladder,  and 
inside  it  was  decorated  throughout  with  the  mirror- 
mosaic  which  to  this  day  is  the  most  characteristic 
ornament  of  Burmese  art.  The  dining-room  of 
the  English  club  had  been  a  reception-hall,  and 
the  exquisite  screens  in  gold  and  looking-glass 
quarrels  of  white  and  green  are  still  there  in 
perfect  preservation.  The  writing-room  of  the  club 
was  the  Lily  Throne  Room — the  lilies  also  are 
gone — and  up  through  the  central  passage,  between 
the  writing-tables  and  newspaper  racks,  and  one 
revolving  case  of  the  "Encyclopaedia  Britannica," 
the  little  silk-clad  Burmese  used  to  come  to  press 
their  foreheads  down  on  the  base  of  the  throne 
while  their  thin  jackets  rippled  under  the  breeze 
of  the  club  punkahs  overhead. 

Outside,  to  the  south,  are  the  King's  gardens. 
To  the  north  are  the  Queen's,  and  these  are  worth 
a  visit.  In  the  middle  is  a  large  rectangular  pool, 

fringed  with  high  palms  and  reflecting  the  blaze 

10* 


148  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

of    many-coloured    flowers.      It     is    a    quiet    spot, 
and  only  one  object  there  suggests  anything  but 
tranquil    and    idyllic    peace.     This    is    a    slightly- 
raised  dyke,  fifty  yards  long,  which  runs  away  from 
the  north-east  corner  of  the  pool.     It  looks  like 
a  filled-in  trench,  and  so  it  is.     But  King  Thebaw 
lost  his  kingdom  when,  in  1879,  he  filled  it  in,  for 
under  this  rough  heaping  of  bricks  and  rubble  and 
earth  he  had,  at  the  suggestion  of   the  Alenandaw 
Queen,  Supiyalat's  mother,  buried  alive  every  other 
soul  of  the  Royal  dynasty  who  could  have  made 
trouble   during  his   reign.     It   is   a  hideous   story, 
and  was  not  made  the  pleasanter  by  the  assurance 
that  some  of  the  wretches  lived — visibly  lived,  by 
the  movements  of  the  dyke — for  two  whole  days. 
We    immediately    withdrew   our   representative    at 
Mandalay,  which    for  Thebaw  was    the   beginning 
of    the    end.     Already    we    were    in    possession    of 
Southern    Burma,    and    an    opportunity    only    was 
needed  to  put  an  end  to  the  continual  and  danger- 
ous pourparlers  which  were  constantly  exchanged 
between  Thebaw  and  the  French.     We  could    not 
allow  Upper  Burma  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  any 
other  European  Power,  and  we  were,  as  the  owners 
of    Lower    Burma,    more    or    less     responsible    for 
Thebaw' s   fidelity   to   his   obligations   to   our   own 


MANDALAY.  149 

subjects.  Our  action  produced  no  good  result, 
so  six  and  a  half  years  later  we  marched  into 
Mandalay  almost  without  a  shot,  and  Thebaw  is 
to-day  enjoying  a  change  which,  though  of  less 
responsibility,  can  hardly  be  called  one  of  greater 
freedom  on  the  coast  of  the  Bombay  Presidency. 
Such  is  the  significance  of  these  shaded  gardens; 
and  as  one  leaves  them  to  cross  the  wide,  open 
spaces  of  burnt-up  grass  which  have  taken  the 
place  of  the  old,  dangerous,  and  unhealthy  native 
city,  one  is  little  disposed  to  quarrel  with  an  an- 
nexation which  has  placed  under  our  government 
a  little  people  which  has  ever  since  congratulated 
itself  upon  this  transference  of  its  allegiance. 

Outside  the  fort  there  is  much  to  see.  The 
exquisite  delicacy  of  the  Queen's  Golden  Monastery, 
the  squat  magnificence  of  Chow-tor-yar-jee-paya 

—this,  by  the  way,  is  the  way  it  is  pronounced, 
not  the  way  it  is  spelled ;  the  thousand  pagodas — 
there  are  only  five  hundred  and  twenty-five  as  a 

matter  of  accuracy ;  the  Mingun  mass  of  split 
brickwork — the  biggest  in  the  world  after  the 

Abhayagiriya  pile  in  Ceylon — and  the  adjacent  bell, 
which  is  the  largest  bell  and  gives  the  deepest 
note  of  any  in  the  world — there  is  much  to  see,  if 

you  are  anxious  to  see  it  all. 


150  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

The  Queen's  Golden  Monastery — I  say  it  with 
reluctance,  because  superlatives  are  too  often  used 
by  travellers — is,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  most 
picturesque  place  in  the  East,  probably  in  the 
world.  There  is  one  particular  square  yard  of 
ground  in  its  courtyard  from  which  there  can  be 
obtained  at  the  four  cardinal  points  four  distinct 
pictures,  each  in  its  own  way  unique.  One  is 
that  of  the  annexed  plate.  The  effect  of  the  well- 
head, a  weathered  spire  of  carved  brown  wood, 
in  the  middle  of  the  'rich  green  of  the  palm  trees,  is 
very  fine,  and  the  more  distant  monastery  spire  of 
tarnished  gold,  worn  red  lacquer,  and  sepia-shaded 
timber,  composes  itself  into  one  indescribable  tint 
in  bold  relief  against  the  blue.  Nor  is  the  Arakan 
pagoda  less  worth  the  half-hour's  drive  back  along 
the  railway  line.  Next  to  the  Shwe  Dagon  this 
is  the  most  sacred  temple  in  Burma.  For  good 
reason  too  :  it  contains  the  image  of  which  the 
Master  in  person  welded  together  the  fragments  into 
one  seamless  monolith,  when  Visvakarma  himself 
failed  to  unite  them.  It  is  a  large  brazen  idol, 
bigger,  but,  like  the  golden  idol  in  Lhasa  by  the 
same  sculptor,  claiming  to  date  from  the  lifetime 
of  Prince  Gautama.  Here  he  sits  in  his  recess, 
somewhat  unkindly  in  feature  and  ungainly  in 


THE   QUEEN'S   GOLDEN  MONASTERY,  MANDALAY 


MANDALAV,  151 

bulk,  but  undeniably  impressive.  Before  him  burn 
the  guttering  candles  of  worship  in  hundreds, 
and  a  massive  iron  screen  is  drawn  across  the 
opening  every  night  at  six  o'clock,  waking  the 
echoes  of  the  colonnaded  temple  with  the  hoarse 
travelling  of  its  rusty  guides.  But  still  the 
squatting  worshippers  sit  on  in  the  aisle  until 
the  candles  burn  low  upon  the  rail  and  dark- 
ness again  hides  from  their  sight  the  unrelenting 
features.  All  round  the  central  shrine  is  the  hub- 
bub and  crowding  of  an  ordinary  Burmese  bazaar. 
Every  alley  is  filled  with  chafferers,  and  you  may 
secure  better  mechanical  wooden  toys  for  eight- 
pence  here  than  half-a-crown  would  buy  you  in 
London.  Beyond,  at  the  back,  is  the  holy  tank, 
from  which  the  best  view  is  to  be  had  of  the 
gilded  terraces  and  pinnacles  of  the  dazzling  central 
spire.  The  Arakan  pagoda  owes  its  prosperous 
state  to-day  solely  to  the  fact  that  to  repair  it 
is  a  virtuous  act  and  one  that  releases  from  the 
consequences  of  sin.  It  is  one  of  the  three  great 
temples  of  Rangoon,  Arakan,  and  Pegu  respectively 
to  which  this  unusual  privilege  attaches.  The 
Burmese  judge  it  but  a  waste  of  money  and  good 
intentions  to  put  any  other  shrine  in  order,  and 
therefore  the  land  is  dotted  with  the  ruined 


152  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

simulacra  of  the  pious  erections  of  other  generations, 
crumbling  and  lopsided,  while  beside  them,  spick 
and  span  with  whitewash  and  somewhat  garish 
in  the  sun,  rise  the  offerings  and  memorials  of  the 
present  day. 

Yet,  whatever  attractions  there  may  be  waiting 
for  you  outside  Mandalay  you  will  go  back  to  the 
fort  and  sit  contentedly  beside  the  palace  walls 
watching  the  sharp,  clear  pinnacle  of  the  Centre  of 
the  Universe  against  the  amethyst  of  the  northern 
sky,  and  listening  to  the  silence,  which  the  dis- 
tant sound  of  a  trotting  ox-wagon,  a  mere  speck 
on  the  road,  seems  only  to  make  more  oppressive. 
Not  a  leaf  of  the  breadfruit  palms  or  of  the  clamber- 
ing mallows  at  their  feet  is  stirred.  It  seems 
impossible  that  this  scene  of  utter  quiet  can  have 
been  the  scene  of  such  foul  barbarities  and  blood- 
thirsty superstitions.  A  grey  squirrel  jerks  out 
from  under  a  forgotten  cactus  clump  and  flounces 
back,  more  out  of  habit  than  real  fright,  the  domino 
wings  of  a  hoopoe  flutter,  a  streak  of  luminous  blue 
betrays  a  kingfisher  who,  for  five  minutes,  had  been 
motionless  on  a  stump,  watching  with  eagerness  the 
tiny  circles  in  the  water  below.  Yet  the  fact 
remains  that  the  foundations  of  the  great  central 
gates  in  the  middle  of  the  more  than  mile-long 


MANDALAY.  153 

fort  walls  are  laid  upon  human  skeletons.  The  foul 
atrocities  of  Thebaw  are  still  faintly  echoed  in  the 
fireside  stories  of  the  old  men.  Perhaps  it  was 
only  another  of  those  cases  wherein,  to  misquote 
in  all  reverence  a  well-known  proverb,  our 
opportunity  came  with  the  utter  extremity  of 
another  race.  To-day  the  Burmese  are  happy ; 
happier,  perhaps,  as  a  whole,  than  any  other  race 
in  the  world,  and  it  would  do  many  a  pessimist 
good  to  see  Monsieur,  Madame  et  Bebe — the  latter 
a  collective  term  out  here — start  for  their  sunset 
jaunt  in  search  of  fresh  air  and  gossip  along  the 
wide  streets  of  Mandalay.  After  all,  it  is  difficult 
to  be  sad  when  one  is  wearing  white  silk  and  a 
tight  pink  turban,  and  one's  wife  and  children 
are  dazzling  in  lemon  yellow,  Venetian  red,  and 
olive  green.  Besides,  there  is  always  the  family 
ring  with  the  big,  bad  cabochon  ruby  from  Mogok, 
which  will  tide  over  a  month  or  two  of  hard  times 
in  a  country  which,  as  King  Bodawpaya  once  neatly 
said,  was  so  much  the  favourite  of  heaven  that 
the  very  waters  of  the  river  added  to  it  many  square 
miles  of  new  territory  every  year. 


154 


Madras. 


THE  rest  of  India  professes  to  be  vastly  diverted 
with  Madras.  There  is  no  civilian  so  newly  landed 
that  he  cannot  poke  his  uncertain  piece  of  fun  at 
the  "  benighted  presidency/'  no  subaltern  who  does 
not  smile  at  the  mention  of  Madrassi  troops.  All 
this  is  wholesome  enough.  The  plain  truth  is  that 
Madras  has  reached  a  pitch  of  security,  prosperity, 
and  efficient  administration  that  leaves  little  still 
to  be  done — little,  that  is,  while  the  rest  of  this 
teeming  peninsula  demands  attention  so  much  more 
urgently  in  elementary  departments  of  govern- 
ment. Education  has  been  carried  as  far  in  Madras 
as  it  safely  can  be  carried,  and  the  bewildered 
English  tourist's  heart  goes  out  to  the  street  boys 
in  her  capital  who  speak  and  delight  in  speaking 
English.  Irrigation  in  other  parts  learned  its  first 
steps  from  Madras,  and  though  the  splendid 
systems  of  the  Punjab  are  now  far  more  gigantic 
and  support  a  hundred  to  Madras's  ten,  it  yet 


MADRAS.  155 

remained  for  the  southern  engineers  to  conceive 
and  carry  out  the  principle  of  the  Periyar  dam. 
From  one  end  of  the  presidency  to  the  other  order 
is  perfectly  kept — Madras's  sneerers  say  easily  kept, 
indeed,  but  is  that  of  necessity  a  reproach  ? — save 
when  some  Moplah  community  sets  out  on  its 
undistinguished  war-path,  or  a  religious  quarrel  has 
embittered  the  relations  of  two  Saivite  communities. 
Taxation  is  better  distributed  here,  and  more  cheer- 
fully rendered,  than  elsewhere,  and  the  actual  re- 
turns are  proof  enough  that  in  material  prosperity 
Madras,  the  milch  cow  of  India,  is  easily  first  among 
the  provinces  of  the  peninsula.  Yet  Anglo-India 
still  diverts  itself  at  the  expense  of  the  southern 
presidency. 

It  is  worth  while  to  consider  this  for  a  moment. 
The  tendency  is,  as  has  been  said,  healthy  enough 
in  reality.  A  man's  reach  should  exceed  his  grasp, 
or  what  is  the  light-blue  riband  of  the  Star  of  India 
or  a  seat  on  the  Council  for  ?  Madras  has  long 
passed  through  that  age  of  striving  and  heart- 
sickening  anxiety  in  which  from  time  to  time  the 
rest  of  our  Asiatic  Empire  seems  to  labour  still. 
And  it  is  for  that  reason,  and  for  that  alone,  that 
she  has  ceased  to  be  interesting.  There  is  much 
to  administer,  there  is  little  left  to  achieve.  No 


156  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

turbulent  frontier  province  here  challenges  the 
pluck,  or  character,  or  tact  of  men  ;  no  internecine 
quarrel  between  Mussulman  and  Hindu  threatens 
the  peace  of  a  commissionership  ;  no  famine  or 
plague  drains  the  life-blood  of  ten  thousand  square 
miles.  Her  stormy  youth  is  passed,  the  new  battle- 
grounds are  a  thousand  miles  from  her  and,  far 
removed  from  frontier  strife,  Madras  rests  and 
works  in  peace.  But  she  has  had  her  jeunesse 
orageuse,  her  battlegrounds  gave  birth  to  an  Empire, 
and  we  should  never  forget  that  there  was  one 
terrible  moment  when  the  frontiers  of  British  India 
were  but  a  gunshot  from  the  walls  of  Cuddalore.  If 
it  were  not  encouraging  to  realise  that  upon  initia- 
tive and  advance  the  ambitions  of  young  Anglo-India 
are  still  set  as  firmly  as  ever,  there  would  be  some- 
thing sad  in  the  fact  that  Clive's  province  is  now 
regarded  as  an  uninteresting  backwater ;  if  it  were 
not  true  that  all  things  are  with  more  pleasure 
chased  than  enjoyed,  there  would  be  something  ridi- 
culous in  the  lesser  estimation  in  which  is  held  the 
one  and  only  district  in  India  that,  after  many  years, 
approximates  to-day  to  that  ideal  of  peace  and 
prosperity  which  our  rule  professes  as  its  aim,  and 
in  very  truth  strains  every  nerve  to  secure. 

Life  in  Madras  runs  on  placidly,   far  from  the 


MADRAS.  157 

uncertainty  that  lies  at  the  core  of  all  the  enjoyment 
of  Englishmen.  The  rest  of  the  peninsula  takes 
uncrediting  example  from  her  in  almost  every 
department  of  administration,  and  the  ryot  of  the 
distant  Ganges  valley  owes  more  contentment  to  the 
ripe  experience  of  Madras  than  he  will  ever  know  or 
his  local  benefactor  ever  confess.  But  Madras  is 
indifferent.  With  all  the  happiness  of  an  un- 
historied  State,  she  goes  her  way  rejoicing,  but 
unsung,  and  almost  wholly  un visited.  The  igno- 
rance of  Upper  India  in  this  matter  is  surprising 
—in  the  Punjab  or  the  United  Provinces  hardly 
one  official  in  two  hundred  has  ever  journeyed 
to  Madras,  and  all  the  average  Army  officer  knows 
of  the  south  is  confined  to  a  year  or  two's  unwilling 
acquaintance  with  Bangalore.  Yet  Madras  teems 
with  interest.  Apart  from  her  history — and  it  is 
all  of  a  piece  with  this  ignorance  that  Clive  re- 
mains unhonoured  to-day  in  India  by  even  an 
obelisk — the  racial  and  architectural  peculiarities 
of  the  south  are  far  more  characteristic  of  the 
inhabitants  than  elsewhere.  One  of  the  most  im- 
portant reasons  of  this  retention  of  individuality 
is  that  here  the  Mohammedan  flood  was  stayed. 
Except  on  the  sea  coast,  where  the  Gulf  traders 
put  into  the  quiet  ports,  there  is  little  of  Islam 


158  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

here,  and  caste  reigns  with  a  supremacy  which  is 
found  nowhere  else  in  India. 

There  is  hardly  a  village  community  in  the  south, 
from  the  Puliahs  and  the  Todas — outcasts  from  even 
the  lowest  and  most  despised  of  sweeper  gatherings 
—to  the  lordly  Nambutiri  Brahmin,  who  walks 
along  groaning  aloud  continually  that  all  lesser  men 
may  clear  away  from  his  path,  which  is  not  full  of 
quaint  interest.  Merias,  thieves  and  descendants 
of  men  saved  by  us  from  being  butchered  on  the 
"  elephant  "  by  the  snake-eating  Khonds  ;  Arudras 
and  Irulas,  whose  women  are  sufficiently  married 
if  a  man  allows  one  of  them  a  whiff  from  the  cheroot 
in  his  mouth,  or  a  mouthful  from  his  dinner,  perhaps 
of  roast  monkey  or  boiled  rat  ;  Brahmins,  who 
marry  plantain  trees  ;  men  of  Tan j  ore,  who  secure 
good  harvests  by  swinging  men  from  trees  by  a 
hook  fixed  in  the  muscles  of  the  back — there  is 
not  a  superstition  or  a  caste  prejudice  of  India 
which  does  not  still  flourish  in  Madras,  despite 
the  spread  of  education  and  the  easy  and  full  rail- 
way inter-communications  which  within  the  last 
few  years  have  been  almost  completed  in  many 
districts.  Perhaps  human  sacrifice  may  still  be 
carried  on  in  some  remote  mountain  tract,  for  all 
the  protestation  of  the  neighbouring  tribes  ;  cer- 


MADRAS.  159 

tainly,  some  of  the  customs  of  the  Malabar  coast 
are  as  unnatural,  if  not  as  barbarous.  The  point 
of  view  is  all. 

Some  years  ago  Lord  Ampthill,  the  late  Governor 
—to  whom  no  small  part  of  the  continued  and 
confirmed  prosperity  of  the  presidency  of  late 
years  must,  in  common  fairness,  be  ascribed— 
tried  to  explain  the  objections  which  the  Indian 
Government  entertained  to  the  "  hook-swinging  n 
practice  to  which  reference  has  been  made.  Finding 
that  other  considerations  were  urged  in  vain,  his 
Excellency  employed  the  argumentum  ad  hominem, 
1  How  would  you  like  to  be  '  hook-swung  *  your- 
self ?  "  The  reply  was  instant  but  disconcerting, 
"If  it  were  thought  necessary,  I  should  have  no 
objection."  The  man  who  spoke  was  a  man  of 
position  and  reputation.  In  this  flourishing  great 
Eden  there  is  still  ample  evidence  of  the  vast  gulf 
that  divides  not  only  the  East  from  the  West, 
but  one  part  of  the  East  from  another.  Still,  in 
Madras  there  is  the  India  that  eighteenth-century 
travellers  described — unchanged,  unchangeable  per- 
haps, certainly  all  the  healthier  for  being  allowed 
free  and  fair  play,  whatever  the  crooked  bent  of 
custom,  myth,  and  tradition.  Men  have  walked 
over  red-hot  iron  bars  within  a  drive  of  Govern- 


160  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

ment  House;  to  secure  their  husbands'  escape  the 
women  of  the  thieving  Koragas  still  tear  themselves 
till  they  faint  for  loss  of  blood  ;  the  men  of  the 
Kuravas  still  practise  the  "  couvade."  Yet  the 
orderliness  of  the  land  is  no  whit  the  worse  for 
these  follies,  and  the  inhabitants  are  much  the 
happier.  Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  point  to 
any  part  of  all  our  wide  dominions  where  our  rule 
has  proved  more  beneficial,  and  one  is  at  a  loss 
whether  to  admire  or  to  smile  at  the  imitative 
dexterity  of  Roman  missionaries  on  the  south- 
west coast,  who  still  permit  their  converts  to  ob- 
serve with  all  strictness  the  prejudices  of  their 
caste  ! 

For  the  ethnologist  and  the  student  of  human 
nature  alike  there  is  no  field  like  that  of  the  tribes 
of  Southern  India,  and  it  is  the  last  and  best  testi- 
mony to  our  wisdom  that  their  peculiarities  may 
be  observed  side  by  side  with  the  prosperity  and 
content  which  are  too  often  regarded  as  achievable 
only  at  the  cost  of  a  partial  Europeanisation  of 
those  committed  to  our  care.  Dull  Madras  may 
be,  but  there  is  no  such  prosperity  in  any  State 
as  in  that  which  has  at  last  curtailed  the  chances 
of  personal  distinction,  except  along  the  unexciting 
lines  of  a  more  and  more  perfect  administration,  and 


p 


MAHABALIPURAM. 


MADRAS.  161 

to  this  happiness  the  presidency  can  at  least  lay 
claim. 

Madras  itself  lies  flatling  along  the  eastern 
straight-edge  of  sand  and  gravel  which  defies 
the  Indian  Ocean.  To  make  a  harbour — the 
mention  of  Madras  harbour  will  bring  either  a 
smile  or  a  sneer  to  the  lips  of  most  marine  engi- 
neers— great  breakwaters  have  been  thrown  out  at 
enormous  cost  into  the  sea.  In  fine  weather  it  is 
safe  for  ships  to  anchor  within  them  and  disem- 
bark their  cargoes  and  their  crews,  but  an  easterly 
storm-cone  will  send  them  packing  out  through  the 
narrow  entrance  to  an  offing  miles  out  at  sea.  More- 
over, the  southern  breakwater  serves  as  a  groyne 
for  the  arrest  of  the  northward-travelling  coast, 
and  the  work  of  years  may  be  ruined  when  the 
ramp  of  sand  extends  out  to  the  end  of  the  southern 
wall  and  begins  to  pour  its  deposits  across  the 
mouth  of  the  harbour.  Already  it  is  half-way  out. 

Inland  Madras  is  a  fair  city  of  green  and  pleasant 
distances.  The  old  flavour  of  the  Honourable 
Company  reigns  here  to  this  day.  A  man  will  have 
his  acres  of  garden  or  coarse  lawn  around  his  house, 
and  the  damp  steamy  swamps  south  of  the  city 
towards  the  Adyar  are  as  Job  Charnock  left  them 

—perhaps  as   they  were  when  Saint  Thomas  laid 

ii 


162  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

down  his  life  many  centuries  ago  just  where  the 
stucco  cathedral  lifts  a  white  spire  among  the  palm- 
groves  of  the  foreshore.  Whether  the  legend  be  true 
or  not,  may  be  left  to  divines  and  antiquarians  to 
decide,  but  its  persistence  here — unquestioned  till 
the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century — adds  a 
pleasant  finish  to  the  rare  records  of  connection 
between  East  and  West. 

From  Madras  the  most  interesting  excursion 
to  be  made  lies  thirty-five  miles  due  south.  It 
may  be  made  in  many  ways,  but  the  most  com- 
fortable of  all  is  to  drop  down  the  Buckingham 
Canal  all  night  in  a  house-boat,  and  find  the  "  Seven 
Pagodas  "  half  a  mile  away  across  the  sandspit  in 
the  morning.  There  is  nothing  so  tantalising  in 
India  as  these  remains  on  the  narrow  low  peninsula 
of  Mahabalipuram.  Of  their  history  little  is  cer- 
tainly known.  Every  period  of  Indian  art  and 
religion  except — and  even  this  is  not  certain — the 
Asokan  influence  seems  to  have  combined  to  add 
its  relic  to  the  curious  medley,  and  the  fact  that  in 
great  measure  the  temples  are  monolithic  has 
effectually  prevented  the  work  of  one  generation 
from  being  pulled  down  or  adapted  by  another.  Five 
"  raths  "  and  a  stone  elephant  are  the  first  objects 
that  meet  the  eye.  Among  them  is  a  singularly 


MADRAS.  163 

fine  model — it  is  scarcely  more — of  a  Buddhist 
vimana  or  storey ed  monastery.  The  others  are 
relics  of  Hindu  worship,  which  have  been,  consciously 
or  unconsciously,  influenced  by  their  Buddhist 
neighbour. 

But  it  is  not  from  these  monoliths  that  the 
"  Seven  Pagodas  "  takes  its  name.  Across  the  ridge 
of  the  little  peninsula,  all  sand  and  casuarina,  you 
may  pick  your  way  to  where  the  sea  breaks  idly 
in  the  sun  against  the  coast.  Almost  in  the  sea 
itself  there  still  remain  two  of  the  Seven  Pagodas  ; 
the  others,  like  the  drowned  churches  off  Suffolk, 
are  five  fathoms  deep  half  a  mile  out  at  sea.  Of  the 
two  that  remain,  that  dedicated  to  Siva  is  of  great 
beauty  and  even  greater  archaeological  importance. 
Fergusson,  whose  knowledge  of  Indian  architecture 
has  supplied  even  his  opponents  with  most  of  what 
is  known  on  the  subject,  ranks  this  small  sea- 
beaten  vimana  as  only  second  in  importance  to 
Tan j ore's  huge  temple.  It  is  something  to  re- 
member, one's  first  acquaintance  with  this 
romantically  placed  shrine.  The  sketch  which  is 
here  reproduced — a  certain  green  of  almost  phos- 
phorescent intensity  between  emerald  and  olivine 
which  the  sunlit  sea  here  wears  is  beyond  the 
possibilities  of  colour  reproduction — was  made  from 

n* 


164  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

the  dark  inner  chamber  of  the  temple.  In  this 
room  nothing  at  first  can  be  distinguished,  so 
dazzled  is  the  retina  still  with  the  white  hot  glare  of 
the  sand  outside.  But  at  last  the  low-relief  figures 
on  the  opposite  wall  can  be  distinguished,  and  the 
huge  black  stump  of  a  lingam  in  the  centre  of  the 
small  room.  The  contrast  between  these  age- 
and  smoke-darkened  walls  and  the  dancing  white 
and  green  of  the  unrolling  surf  seen  below  through 
the  open  doorway  is  one  of  the  eerie  things  of 
India.  It  so  far  resembles  sitting  in  a  darkened 
opera-house  and  watching  a  scene  from  the 
"  Ring,"  that  for  the  first  time  one  realises  the 
one  thing  impossible  on  the  stage — the  on-sweep 
and  mount  and  spray-silvered  fall  and  spread  of 
homing  sea- waves.  Their  sound  echoes  like  an 
insistent  ground-tenor  all  round  the  chamber,  and 
the  fall  of  a  greater  or  less  wave  is  unnoticed  here 
among  the  droning  harmonies.  Inshore,  the  sea 
is  so  soon  sanded  that  it  becomes  olivine  ;  beyond, 
its  vivid  green  glitter  serves  to  emphasize  the  dark 
horizon  belt  of  cerulean  from  which  it  is  separated 
by  the  white  horses  that  break  a  mile  away  over 
the  pinnacles  and  spires  of  the  lost  shrines.  Thirty 
yards  away,  in  the  very  thickest  of  the  foam,  is  a 
green  weeded  rock,  on  which  the  flag  pillar,  so  com- 


.. 


MADRAS.  165 

mon  in  the  temples  of  southern  India,  still  stands. 
It  is  now  but  eighteen  feet  in  height,  and  in  its 
broken  solitude  it  adds  exactly  the  right  note  of 
desolation  to  the  scene. 

I  cannot  understand  why  the  "  Seven  Pagodas  " 
has  not  long  been  exploited  by  some  tourist 
agency.  There  is  nothing  else  like  it  in  the  world, 
and,  alas  !  it  is  only  too  easily  reached  from  Madras. 
But  before  that  evil  day  of  notoriety  comes,  go 
and  see  it  now — now,  while  still  it  remains  as  un- 
tainted by  Western  influence  as  the  falls  of  the 
Brahmaputra. 

"  Arj una's  Penance,"  a  series  of  figures  of  animals 
and  men  and  gods  cut  upon  a  flattened  rock,  is  of 
considerable  extent  and  of  some  interest,  and  other 
temples  and  sculptures  await  you  all  over  the 
little  peninsula,  but  in  picturesque  beauty  none 
can  compare  with  either  the  Raths  or  the  Seven 
Pagodas.  Spend  your  day  among  them,  and  you 
will  be  towed  back  in  the  lingering  sunset  well 
contented  with  these  new  things  in  the  scrap-book 
of  your  experience.  If  you  sketch,  so  much  the  better, 
however  badly  you  may  do  it,  for  the  temples  are 
worth  detailed  study,  and  you  can  store  your 
memory  twice  as  well  when  a  pencil-stroke  crystal- 
lizes and  shapes  an  impression.  But  it  will  be  waste 


166  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

of  time  to  finish  your  sketches  on  the  house-boat 
roof.  It  is  better  to  lie  back  and  watch  the  orange 
and  opal  die  out  in  the  west,  and  mark  the  on- 
coming of  the  vedettes  and  scouts  of  the  wary 
battalions  of  heaven.  Soon  you  will  be  aware  of 
something  unusual  in  these  cold  argent  constellations 
steadily  powdering  the  purple  spaces  of  the  sky  :  a 
moment  later  you  will  discover  that  in  these  tropics 
the  stars  in  the  zenith  do  not  twinkle.  There  is  a 
good  reason  for  this,  but  at  first  it  comes  as  a 
novelty  which  every  traveller  finds  out  for  himself 
to  his  own  vast  self-congratulation  and  pleasure. 


SIVA'S  TEMPLE  AT  THE  SEVEN  PAGODAS. 


•  «c 

•  •• 

•  •  • 


Cochin   and    Kottyam. 


THE  leafless  white  branches  of  the  champaks  throw 
a  tangled  shadow  like  black  lace  upon  the  moon- 
whitened  turf  of  the  Residency  lawn ;  overhead 
there  is  a  sound  of  a  going  in  the  tops  of  the  casua- 
rinas  ;  and  all  round,  through  the  warm  movement 
of  the  sultry  night  breeze,  sweeps  in  the  lap  and 
trickle  of  the  lagoon  against  the  tufa  blocks  at  the 
water's  edge.  Across  the  lagoon  the  rare  lights  of 
Cochin  speckle  the  low,  misty  line  of  dense  cocoa- 
nuts,  and  the  antiphon  of  some  invisible  rowers  back 
from  Ernakulam  in  the  very  moon's  pathway  is 
timed  by  the  ground  bass  of  their  thudding  thole- 
pins. If  ever  there  were  a  land  of  peace  it  is  here 
in  Cochin,  where  Vasco  da  Gama's  keels  first 
floundered  in  the  soft  sand  of  the  bar,  and  the  soil 
of  India  was  broken  by  the  earliest  of  those  Renais- 
sance Venturers  who  were  to  change  the  face  of  the 
land.  Vasco's  house  is  to  be  seen  still,  shouldered 
up,  in  the  narrow  street  not  far  from  the  church. 


1 68  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

No  doubt  it  is  the  right  one.     Why  should  a  lotus- 
eater  lie  to  tickle  the  stranger's  fancy  ? 

Older  things  by  far  are  still  flourishing  here — 
oldest  of  all  that  strangest  of  communities,  the 
White  Jews  of  Cochin.  Of  their  origin  nothing  is 
known  certainly.  Their  records  run  for  seven 
hundred  years,  so  there  must  have  been  some  even 
in  this  uttermost  part  of  the  earth  to  shudder 
with  terror  when  the  white  and  gold  flags  of  Ca- 
tholicism flapped  lazily  in  the  land-wind  beyond  the 
line  of  surf.  These  Jews  have  bred  in  and  in  till 
all  that  is  left  is  pure  Semite.  The  splendid  fore- 
heads and  straight  hawk-eyes  about  the  aquiline 
nose,  the  nostrils,  just  a  trifle  over-curved  upon 
the  cheek,  the  full  beards,  which  hide  the  fuller 
lips,  keep  a  more  majestic  type  than  other  Jews. 
The  skin  is  dead  white,  untannable,  and  the  first 
view  of  this  the  farthest  lost  of  the  tribes  is  as 
uncanny  as  the  first  sight  a  stranger  catches  of  an 
ash-whitened  bhairagi,  or,  weirder  still,  of  the 
albino  "  kakrelaks,"  horrible  parodies  of  the  white 
man,  with  their  dull,  hairless,  pink  skins  and 
blinking  red-tinged  eyes.  All  is  in  order  in  the 
parathesi  here — the  scrolls  of  the  law  within  the 
panels  of  the  reredos,  the  brass  railings  of  the 
reading  dais  clean  and  polished — and  one  suddenly 


COCHIN   AND   KOTTYAM.  169 

realises  that  everywhere  underfoot  are  the  finest 
old  blue  Dutch  tiles  that  ever  made  a  collector 
break  the  last  of  this  community's  own  command- 
ments. 

Half  a  mile  away  along  the  street  is  the  syna- 
gogue of  the  Black  Jews,  a  poorer  house,  but  as 
scrupulously  furnished  in  due  ritual.  These  Jews 
represent  the  left-handed  offspring  of  mixed  unions, 
which  the  children  of  purely  Jewish  marriages 
ostracised  from  the  chief  tabernacle.  In  the  course 
of  centuries  the  Semitic  traits  of  this  body  have 
become  greatly  weakened.  The  type  is  here 
scarcely  recognisable,  and  the  congregation  of  the 
Kadvoobagam  might  be  of  the  normal  Cochinese 
natives  were  it  not  for  a  certain  clearness  in  the 
white  of  the  eye,  a  touch  of  brown  in  the  hair,  and 
a  much  lower  nasal  index,  to  use  the  language  of 
ethnologists.  Elephantiasis  is  extremely  common 
among  them  as  well  as  their  white  brethren. 

Out  by  the  edge  of  the  lagoon,  past  the  Maha- 
raja's old  palace,  picturesquely  placed  beside  the 
White  Jews'  clock  tower,  and  exquisitely  frescoed 
in  tones  of  ochre  and  Indian  red,  with  subjects 
that  occidentals  prefer  to  leave  unrepresented,  the 
street  of  Cochin  runs  on  between  long  bazaars, 
where  the  steady  clang  of  the  brazier's  hammer, 


1 70  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

or  the  strong,  sweet  scent  of  ginger  or  turmeric 
betrays  the  trade  of  the  quarter.  All  is  dirty  and 
careless  as  ever  in  India.  Goats,  with  the  nap  worn 
off  their  knees  and  bloodhound  ears,  attitudinise 
upon  the  house  steps,  and  the  grey  crows  hop  and 
jostle  each  other  for  their  street  quarries.  A  bridge 
over  an  inlet  carries  us  down  to  the  open  grass  of 
the  point  where  the  spidery  cantilevers  of  the 
fishing  machines  dive  and  rise  again  in  orderly 
gravity  from  before  dawn  till  long  past  sunset. 

The  strangest  features  of  this  land  are  its  water- 
ways. Hidden  from  the  unrest  of  the  Indian  Ocean 
by  a  long,  linked  barrier  of  island  and  reef  and  bar, 
the  lazy  chain  of  canals  and  lakes  stretches  itself 
for  two  hundred  miles,  and  a  man  can  go  upon  a 
surface  like  a  mill-pool  from  Cochin  to  Trivandrum 
and  farther  still.  Now  salt,  now  brackish,  and  now 
fresh,  the  waterways  thread  their  path  parallel 
between  the  mountains  and  the  sea,  sometimes  a 
shade  beneath  avenues  of  palms,  sometimes  spread- 
ing out  into  wide,  shallow  lakes,  through  which 
even  the  eighteen-inch  draught  of  the  row-barges 
has  to  be  guided  by  forlorn  stakes,  jutting  nakedly 
above  the  scarcely  ruffled  water,  each  a  perch  for 
cormorants.  All  day  and  all  night  the  fourteen 
rowers  in  the  body  of  the  boat  paddle  on,  washing 


A  woman  of  Travancore. 


\Facing  page  170.. 


COCHIN   AND   KOTTYAM.  171 

out  mightily  with  their  mustard-spoon-like  oars, 
and  singing  roughly  but  not  unmusically  as  the 
banks  slip  by.  Generally  the  helmsman  starts  the 
song.  Two  lines  of  harsh,  angular  Malayalam  is 
answered  by  a  roar  from  the  chorus  on  the  thwarts, 
a  second  recitative  receives  its  proper  response,  a 
third,  a  fourth,  and  at  last  a  fiftieth,  is  equally 
robustly  capped.  The  phrase  "  Mi-ne-yarra-aA-si  " 
is  extremely  common  as  a  rower's  cry,  the  boat 
plunging  forward  a  good  fathom  on  the  "  ah." 
Then  there  is  a  minute's  silence,  broken  perhaps 
by  a  long-drawn  "  Wah !  "  This  is  not  a  con- 
tribution to  the  boat's  melody,  it  is  a  warning  that 
too  fast  a  stroke  is  being  set,  and  it  is  instantly 
responded  to,  the  rowers  coming  forward  with 
almost  exaggerated  slowness  for  the  next  half-dozen 
strokes  and  pulling  them  through  with  a  vicious  swish. 
It  is  a  land  in  which  it  seems  always  to  be 
afternoon.  No  one  is  poor,  no  one  is  energetic. 
Here  in  the  uttermost  recesses  of  India  old  habits 
linger  that  have  long  been  abandoned  elsewhere. 
Women  think  it  a  slur  upon  their  good  name  to  wear 
anything  above  the  waist,  and  worthy  missionaries 
find  themselves  placed  in  a  difficulty  by  an  imme- 
morial custom  that  associates  the  wearing  of  any 
upper  garment  with  loose  morals.  Cochin  and 


i;2  ,  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Travancore  live  upon  their  fish  and  their  cocoa- 
nuts.  All  day  long  and  all  year  long  the  women 
beat  out  into  a  golden  tangle  the  inner  fibres  of  the 
green  husk,  while  the  men  pilot  huge  barge-loads 
of  the  fruit  along  the  narrow  canals.  If  there  is  the 
faintest  wind  the  mat-work  sail  is  hoisted,  and  lying 
idly  in  the  afternoon  half-asleep  one  often  starts  to 
find  a  bold  tattered  squaresail  hanging  grandly 
overhead  filtering  the  splendours  of  the  sunset. 

Kottyam  lies  some  miles  up  a  reach,  away  even 
from  the  main  back-water.  Perhaps  there  are  few 
places  of  any  interest  in  India  so  utterly  unvisited. 
The  interest  of  Kottyam  lies  in  the  curious  settle- 
ment of  Christians,  who  still  maintain  here  their 
ancient  ritual.  Early  in  the  sixth  century  a  tra- 
veller reported  in  Rome  that  there  were  Christians 
in  Ma-le,  "  where  the  pepper  comes  from/'  under 
a  bishop  who  was  consecrated  in  Persia.  This  is 
true  enough  to-day,  except  that  Antioch  has  super- 
seded Nineveh  as  the  metropolis  of  these  remote 
exiles.  Who  founded  the  colony  ?  Saint  Thomas, 
says  the  unanimous  voice  of  Indian  tradition.  In 
the  church  at  Kottyam  you  may  see  the  picture  of 
the  Doubting  Apostle,  with  his  finger-tip  stained 
yet  with  the  blood  that  the  spear  of  Longinus  drew. 
But  history  still  hesitates.  Three  Thomases  may 


The  Synagogue  of  the  White  Jews,  Cochin. 


The  Church,  Kottyam. 


I  Facing  -hcurc  1 72. 


COCHIN    AND    KOTTYAM.  173 

indeed  claim  the  credit  of  being  the  protevangelist 
of  India,  and  he  who  seems  most  likely  to  have 
handed  down  the  familiar  name  in  Malabar  was  a 
lusty  bigamist  and  merchant  first,  and  a  pillar  of 
Christianity  afterwards. 

The  truth  is  that  the  expulsion  of  the  followers 
of  Nestorius  by  their  false  friend,  Theodosius,  in 
431,  created  this  among  the  other  refuges  in  farther 
Asia  for  the  persecuted  sect.  But  the  remoteness 
of  Kottyam  from  civilisation  and  its  immunity 
from  the  exterminating  invasions  of  Timur  have 
contributed  to  the  preservation  in  this  out-of-the- 
way  spot  of  a  last  survivor  of  primitive  Christian 
communities.  Safe  from  external  influences,*  the 
tradition  has  been  handed  down  under  circum- 
stances that  would  have  been  impossible  else- 
where. It  is  curious  to  notice  that  the  history  of 
this  tiny  offshoot  of  Christianity  has  been  a  faith- 
ful reflex  in  miniature  of  mightier  schools.  If,  after 
the  first  exile,  there  has  been  the  same  persecution 
from  without,  there  has  at  least  been  the  same 
intestinal  warfare  within  the  fold.  Even  now  there 
are  two,  if  not  three,  distinct  bodies  among  these 
"  Syrian  "  Christians,  and  the  successive  reformers 

*  The  Anglo-Saxon  Chronicle  records  that  in  883  King  Alfred  sent  Sighelm 
Bishop  of  Sherborne  to  the  church  founded  by  St.  Thomas  in  India.  He  brought 
back  gems  and  spices  of  great  value. 


174  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

on  their  miniature  stage  play  as  valiant  a  part  as 
other  and  greater  of  their  kidney.  Besides  these 
protagonists  of  Kottyam,  there  is  a  Syrian  church 
here  which  is  in  full  communion  with  Rome,  but 
is  permitted  to  retain  many  of  its  peculiar  forms 
of  discipline  and  ritual,  and  a  company  of  schis- 
matics formed  in  1868 ;  all,  of  course,  claim  to 
represent  the  true  spirit  that  breathed  in  the 
Jacobite  church.  Between  them,  so  far  as  antiquity 
of  ritual  is  concerned,  there  is  no  question.  The 
old  sect  of  Kottyam  is,  out  of  all  cavilling,  that 
Christian  community  which  represents  the  early 
ceremonial  of  the  faith  in  its  least  amended  form. 
No  one  can  attend  its  services  without  realising 
this,  and  the  fact  that  the  officiating  priests  are  of 
a  dark  race  only  serves  to  emphasise  the  fact  that 
Christianity  is  essentially  a  Semitic  and  not  a  Cau- 
casian religion. 

A  Mass  in  the  eld  church  here  reminds  one  vaguely 
of  the  ritual  in  St.  Julien-le-Pauvre  in  Paris,  though 
the  Maronite  service  has  probably  little  real  con- 
nection with  this  :  bearded  and  married  priests, 
the  drawing  and  undrawing  of  the  chancel  curtain, 
and  similar  lesser  points  may  be  all  there  really  is 
in  common. 

The  curtain  that  hangs  across  the  sanctuary  arch 


COCHIN    AND    KOTTYAM.  175 

is  pulled  aside,  and  the  native  priest,  in  a  full 
flowered  cope  of  crimson  and  green  silk  almost 
concealing  a  plain  alb  and  a  conventionalised  stole 
of  dark  red  silk,  confined  by  a  sash  at  the  waist, 
moves  up  to  the  altar,  attended  by  two  acolytes. 
After  walking  round  the  altar,  to  the  discordant 
noise  of  every  bell  in  the  church  and  the  rattling 
sistra  in  the  hands  of  the  acolytes,  the  service  begins. 
Not  only  is  it  conducted  in  the  Malayalam  dialect 
—the  invocation  and  consecration  alone  being  in 
Syriac — but  the  Mass  itself  is  dissimilar  from  any- 
thing in  Europe  both  in  the  order  and  the  manner 
of  its  progress.  The  kiss  of  peace  is  circulated 
early  in  the  service,  almost  immediately  after  the 
reading  of  the  two  Epistles.  A  long  sermon  in  the 
vernacular  then  gave  one  an  opportunity  of 
noticing  the  tenth-century  cross  let  into  the  eastern 
end  of  the  north  side  chapel,  and  the  frankly  Saivite 
ornamentation  of  the  church  itself.  Yalis,  mon- 
keys, and  lotus  circles  seem  curious  in  a  Christian 
church,  and  even  St.  Thomas's  emblem,  the  pea- 
cock, seems  more  reminiscent  of  Kartikkeya  or 
Saras vati  than  of  the  sceptical  disciple  of  Galilee. 
Against  the  western  wall  of  the  church  there  is  a 
delightful  scene.  A  European  sportsman  with  gun 
and  dog  is  having  a  good  day  with  wild  duck, 


i;6  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

The  mixing  of  the  chalice  takes  place  while  the 
chancel  arch  curtain  is  again  drawn  forward,  and 
the  curious  lustration  of  the  altar  is  then  per- 
formed once  more,  to  the  same  discord  of  bells  and 
sistra  as  before.  One  of  the  peculiar  features  of 
the  service  is  that  there  is  a  solemn  invocation  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  by  whom,  and  not  by  the  priest, 
the  sacred  elements  are  directly  consecrated.  This 
in  itself  is  enough  to  indicate  the  extraordinary 
age  of  the  ceremonial  type.  The  Christian  priest- 
hood of  every  branch  of  the  faith  was  quick  to  see 
the  great  personal  honour  and  political  advantage 
to  be  gained  by  endowing  the  ministrant  himself 
with  this  privilege,  and  the  present  claims  of  Rome 
are  not  indirectly  based  upon  the  right  of  the 
Catholic  priests  to  act  alone  in  this  matter  as  the 
direct  vicegerents  of  God.  The  elements  are 
received  in  both  kinds,  the  wafer  being  dipped  in 
the  chalice,  and  the  Mass  terminates  with  the  filing 
past  of  the  whole  congregation,  every  adult  and 
child  receiving  a  touch  from  the  priest's  maniple. 
The  use  of  the  cope  instead  of  the  chasuble  during 
the  communion  is  curious  as  an  example  of  a  use 
which  is  now  and  has  been  from  time  immemorial 
observed  at  St.  Paul's  in  London.  This  ancient 
custom  has  of  course  been  abandoned,  for  the 


Entrance  to  the  Church,  Kottyam. 


[Facing  page  176. 


COCHIN   AND   KOTTYAM.  177 

Italian  use  in  modern  Roman  Catholic  churches.  A 
link  with  the  past  which  the  Romanists  claim  as 
their  own  is  thus  severed,  and  it  rather  adds  to 
the  regret  that  there  are  few  or  no  other  instances 
of  the  habit. 

These  few  jottings  of  a  remote  Christian  Mass  may 
be  of  interest  to  some,  for  any  custom  there  may 
still  be  left  peculiar  to  the  ritual  of  Antioch — the 
earliest,  be  it  remembered,  of  all  the  churches — 
is  more  certainly  preserved  here  than  elsewhere. 
Remote  from  all  other  influences,  from  schisms, 
from  progress,  and  from  jealousy  alike,  the  primi- 
tive rites  of  the  Church  are  more  exactly  rendered 
at  Kottyam  than  anywhere  else  in  the  Christian 
world ;  and  as  one  turns  out  into  the  blinding  sun 
of  midday  one  feels  that  it  was  worth  any  exertion 
to  reach  to  this  tiny  outcast  church,  which  still 
gallantly  upholds  the  more  philosophic  but  less 
popular  version  of  our  common  faith.  As  one 
leans  over  the  low  wall  of  the  churchyard  and 
surveys  the  sea  of  cocoa-nut  palms  beneath,  one 
cannot  but  recall  the  persistent  rumour  that  late 
in  life  Cardinal  Newman  confessed  that  Nestorius 
was  right  and  Cyril  wrong.  The  story  of  Roman 
Catholicism  is  pointed  by  single  words.  "  Filioque  " 
lost  her  the  Eastern  communion  ;  "  theotokos  " 

12 


1 78  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

lost  her  the  whole  body  of  Protestants ;  to-day 
"  gravissimo  "  bids  fair  to  lose  her  half  of  all  she 
yet  retains  at  home.  But  theological  discussion  is 
out  of  place  among  the  rank,  steaming  forests  of 
South  India.  Our  dissensions  have  done  much  to 
make  missionary  effort  in  the  country  a  well- 
meaning  failure,  which  is  only  tolerated  at  home 
because  of  the  ignorance  of  the  societies  concerned. 
The  unfortunate  but  almost  universal  result  is 
that,  except  on  the  Malabar  coast,  an  experienced 
Englishman  refuses  to  engage  a  Christian  servant, 
for  reasons  which,  are  perfectly  well  understood 
by  his  Hindu  or  Mohammedan  fellows. 


QUILON. 


179 


Hyderabad. 


THERE  is,  after  all,  little  in  Hyderabad  itself  that 
is  of  interest  other  than  that  which  clothes  most 
capital  towns  in  India.  The  fact  that  the  Nizam 
is  the  premier  native  chief,  and  the  widest  land- 
owner, is,  of  course,  reflected  on  State  occasions  by 
a  certain  barbaric  splendour.  But  the  shortness 
of  his  princely  pedigree  and  the  fact  that,  as  a 
Mohammedan,  his  very  presence  is  a  little  anoma- 
lous in  Southern  India  deprive  him  of  that  un- 
questioned deference  which  is  the  natural  right  of 
a  Child  of  the  Sun.  The  huge  estate  of  Hyderabad 
is  a  religious  enclave  cut  off  by  sheer  distance  from 
those  stirring  regions  of  the  north-west,  with  which 
the  deepest  of  all  ties  would  otherwise  connect 
it.  There  is  perhaps  no  small  advantage  to  our- 
selves in  this  fact.  The  remoteness  of  Southern 
India  from  the  centres  of  interest  to-day  has 
deprived  her  of  political  significance,  and  the  tur- 
bulent fascination  of  the  Carnatic,  that  appealed 

12* 


UNDER  THE  SUN. 

so  strongly  to  Macaulay,  has  long  passed  away,  and 
with  it  has  passed  away  the  last  vestige  of  anxiety 
as  to  anything  that  the  great  Mohammedan  vassal 
of  the  British  Empire  might  find  it  in  his  mind  or 
within  his  power  to  do. 

So    Hyderabad    flourishes    and   waxes  fat.     The 
streets  of  her  capital  are  filled  with  merchandise  and 
busy  traffickings,  and  the  mere  scratching  of  the 
ground  of  her  sixty  million  acres  provides  a  decent 
subsistence  for  her  people  and  wealth  for  her  ruler. 
A  trace  of  the  older  regime  still  exists,  a  mockery  of 
its  former  self.     Still  the   Nizam   hunts   with   the 
cheetah  ;   still  he  slips  the  hawk  at  its  victim  ;   still 
he  shoots  at  the  gold  mohur  ;  and  still  his  elephants 
thrust  themselves  in  an  orderly  rank  through  the 
crowds  at  the  palace  gates,   still  waiting  for  the 
employment   that   in   these   days   rarely   or   never 
comes.     The   glory   is   departed,    and   the   Nizam  j 
the  cleverest  native  in  all  India,  and  withal  one  of 
the  most  dignified,  finds  time  hang  heavy  on  his 
idle  hands.     He  chooses  his  Ministers  well.     Now 
and  then  he  descends  upon  them,  and  with  a  clear 
brain    and    unsparing    vigilance    tests    their    work 
whether  it  be  good  or  bad.     So  the  work  goes  on, 
not  over  well,  because  his  Highness  cares  little  for 
domestic  reforms   and   trivial  administration ;   not 


HYDERABAD.  181 

over  badly,  because  no  man  knows  what  the  Nizam 
may  chance  unexpectedly  to  do  from  day  to  day. 
The  natural  fertility  of  Hyderabad  provides  all 
that  is  necessary,  though  it  is  far  from  what  might 
be  obtained.  And  so  the  Nizam,  chafing  under  the 
day  of  small  things  that  interest  him  only  as  a 
means  of  asserting  still  the  phantom  of  his  auto- 
cracy, has  to  find  other  means  of  escaping  from  the 
ennui  of  his  guaranteed  prosperity. 

It  is  said  that  he  rarely  goes  to  Golconda.  Per- 
haps the  sight  of  the  great  fortress — from  which  his 
predecessor's  master  drove  out  a  race  of  real  kings, 
men  who  played  the  great  game  on  the  world's 
stage — reminds  him  of  the  dead  level  of  satisfactory 
mediocrity  with  which  he  must  needs  be  contented 
in  these  piping  times.  Yet  Golconda  is  worth  many 
visits.  It  is  another  of  those  towns  of  which  the 
mere  names  are  full  of  romance.  Jewels  of  great 
Emperors  flash  in  the  very  consonants.  What 
gems  these  old  Indian  jewels  were !  There  are 
legends  and  records  of  many  :  some  still  remain. 

We  have  all  heard  of  the  six-pound  sapphire  of 
Muttra  and  the  six-pound  three-ounce  ruby  of 
Somnaut.  Shah-Jehan  possessed  one  jewel  which 
was  valued  by  Tavernier  at  the  rather  quaint  sum 
(in  modern  terms)  of  £879,245  i8s.  i^d.  He  also 


182  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

possessed  the  Koh-i-nur,  which  then  weighed  787^ 
carats.  These  two  stones,  however,  may  have  been 
identical.  Tavernier  is  not  clear  on  this  point. 
His  account  of  the  jewels  of  India  is  very  interesting. 
He  makes  no  comment  upon  the  legends  he  repeats, 
but  is  quite  business-like  when  dealing  with  stones 
he  has  actually  seen.  The  "  Hope  "  blue  diamond 
was  brought  back  to  Europe  by  him.  It  then 
weighed  one  hundred  and  twelve  carats.  At  the 
present  moment  it  only  weighs  forty-four,  but 
this  is  to  be  attributed  to  reckless  cutting  in  Paris, 
where  alleged  splinters  of  it  are,  I  believe,  still  to 
be  bought.*  Jehangir  was  offered  a  five-and-a- 
quarter  ounce  ruby  by  the  Portuguese.  They 
asked  five  lakhs  of  rupees,  a  sum  that  may  approxi- 
mately be  represented  to-day  by  two  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  pounds,  but  Jehangir  would  not  go 
beyond  one  lakh.  Tavernier  makes  a  reference  to 
a  certain  pearl,  originally  belonging  to  the  King 
of  Persia,  which  he  regards  as  the  finest  in  existence. 
This  is  said  to  be  the  same  as  that  which,  early 
in  the  last  century,  found  its  way  into  the  possession 
of  the  great  Forbes  firm  in  Bombay,  and  was  by  them 

*  Since  writing  this  sentence,  one  of  these  minor  stones  has  been  brought  very 
prominently  before  the  world  by  the  charge  which  Mme.  de  Rodellec  de  Porzic 
has  just  withdrawn  against  M.  Greger,  her  guest  at  the  time  when  the  stone 
was  temporarily  lost, 


HYDERABAD.  183 

offered  to  the  late  Lord  Dudley  for  two  thousand 
pounds.  For  some  reason  he  did  not  accept  the 
offer  at  the  time,  but  the  gem  was  too  tempting,  and 
eventually  Lord  Dudley  was  obliged  to  pay  nearly 
ten  thousand  pounds  for  it.  At  the  distribution 
of  Lady  Dudley's  jewels  a  few  years  ago  this  single 
pearl  fetched  the  sum  of  thirteen  thousand  seven 
hundred  pounds.  Another  jewel  with  an  Indian 
record  is  the  large  ruby  owned  by  Lady  Carew. 
It  is  about  as  big  as  a  finger-tip  and  is  uncut; 
Shah-Jehan's  name  is  engraved  upon  it.  The 
Orloff  diamond,  which  is  the  principal  jewel  of  the 
Russian  Regalia,  is  in  all  probability  the  larger 
part  of  the  great  diamond  of  which  the  Koh-i-nur 
is  the  smaller.  Some  jewelled  crystals  in  the  green 
vaults  in  Dresden  are  also  to  be  traced  to  the  Mogul 
Emperors.  A  fragment  of  the  "Peacock  Throne" 
still  exists  in  Teheran,  and  the  Agra  diamond,  of  a 
faint  rose  tinge,  which  caused  some  litigation  a 
few  years  ago,  had  a  trustworthy  Mogul  pedigree. 
Tavernier  makes  a  curious  reference  to  the  screen 
within  the  Taj -Mahal.  Fantastic  as  the  idea  may 
seem,  Shah-Jehan  originally  intended  that  this 
last  protection  and  ornament  for  his  lost  darling 
should  be  made  in  the  form  of  a  jewelled  grape- 
vine climbing  over  a  trellis  of  rubies  and  emeralds. 


1 84  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

This  was  exhibited  in  the  palace  within  the  fort 
after  only  a  few  wreaths  had  been  made,  and  then 
counter-ordered ;  and  we  may  congratulate  our- 
selves that  the  mad  project  was  never  carried  out, 
not  only  because  the  present  inlaid  alabaster  is 
infinitely  more  beautiful,  but  because,  with  such  ]oot 
as  that  within  it,  it  is  doubtful  indeed  whether  the 
Taj  would  have  been  allowed  to  remain  intact  for 
even  one  generation.  It  is  a  remarkable  thing  that, 
so  far  as  is  known,  the  actual  coffins  of  Mumtaz-i- 
Mahal  and  of  Shah-Jehan,  both  of  which  almost 
certainly  contain  extremely  valuable  jewels,  have 
never  been  disturbed. 

It  is  true  that  diamonds  are  not  found  at  Gol- 
conda — they  never  were — true  that  the  halls  and 
walls  and  battlements  are  overgrown  with  weeds 
and  utterly  deserted,  but  the  charm  of  Golconda 
Rock  remains.  It  lies  to  the  west  of  the  modern 
city  of  Hyder,  some  seven  miles  perhaps  by  road, 
but  a  good  deal  less  by  the  only  measurements 
that  are  true  in  India,  for  the  road  is  level  and 
smooth,  and  there  is  hardly  an  uninteresting  fur- 
long all  the  way.  The  dusty  compounds  of  the 
European  residents,  garish  with  the  transparent 
flares  of  rocketing  purple  bougainvillea,  or  the  raw 
scarlet  of  cannas,  fall  behind,  and,  for  a  little,  the 


Aurangzeb's  Tomb,  Roza. 


Golconda, 


r  /.• • ,*„„ 


HYDERABAD.  185 

track  crosses  the  unslaked  prairie  that  will  one  day 
make  Hyderabad  a  considerable  factor  in  the  world's 
grain  market.  Soon  a  corner  is  saved  by  a  short  cut 
through  his  Highness1  s  fruit  gardens,  and  then  the 
main  road,  which  had  gone  half  a  mile  about  to 
the  south,  carries  us  again  straight  on  to  the  outer 
city  wall  of  Golconda  town.  The  gateway  is  heavily 
fenced  with  timbered  and  spiked  doors,  but,  once 
escaped  from  under  it,  the  road  runs  again,  a  white 
and  dusty  ribbon,  to  the  foot  of  the  Rock.  On 
either  side  are  the  ruins  of  Golconda's  pleasant 
places — fallen  fronts  which  once  sheltered  either 
riches  or  learning,  dainty  favourites  or  bronzed 
merchant-venturers  ;  empty  halls,  where  music  or 
high  deliberation  once  reigned ;  broken  purdahs, 
which  need  no  restoration  now  by  the  austerest 
husband  in  all  Islam.  The  crawling  vines  of  the 
yellow  gourd  and  the  feathers  of  rank  nettle-beds 
do  their  best  to  hide  the  desolation,  but  Golconda, 
save  where  some  group  of  playing  children  or  the 
whirr  of  a  turning  hand-mill  betrays  a  poor  home 
among  the  wreckage  of  royalty,  is  one  with 
Nineveh. 

At  the  Bala  Hissar  gate  a  knot  of  the  Nizam's 
men  spring  to  attention  and  demand  the  pass  with- 
out which  the  Rock  may  not  be  visited.  It  is  an 


i86  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

idle    restriction,    for   nothing   less    defensible    than 
Golconda    exists,   but   it   is   an    assertion   of   royal 
rights,  and  of  these  the  Nizam  is  rightly  jealous. 
For  though  to  our  practical  selves  there  may  be 
little  reason  to   forbid  the  freest  inspection  of   such 
antiquated    strongholds,    the    native    in    his    heart 
associates  a  flash  of  arbitrary  prohibition  with  the 
possession  of  power.     You  will  find  never  a  subject 
of  his  Highness's  save  a  sentry  or  a  mason  on  the 
slopes  of  Golconda  Hill.     Nothing,  however,  seems 
repaired  except  the  lower  gate.     A  steep  track  of 
hacked-out   stairs   leads    up    from   beside    the   old 
arsenal  walls  to  the  citadel.     Green  with  moss,  and 
clothed  with  weeds,  except  along  a  worn,  narrow 
track  wherein  the  exposed  ridges  of  rock  at  the  turn 
of  the  treads  show  whitely  above  the  reddish  drifts 
of  soil,  the  strait  steps  climb  up.     Trees  spring  out 
from  crumbling  battlements,  and  empty  wells,  over- 
hung with  mimosa  and  long  lavender-tufted  grasses, 
are   barely   recognisable  beside   the   track.     Every 
natural  bastion  of  rock  has  been  roughly  shaped 
and  worked  into  the  scheme  of  fortification,  some- 
times so  deftly  that  it  is  hard  to  distinguish  the 
work  of  men's  hands.     It  looks  unfinished,  and  even 
in  the  heyday  of  its  pride  this  mixture  of  Nature's 
and  man's  craft  must  have  been  untidy.     Opposite 


HYDERABAD.  187 

the  King's  palace  rises  a  huge  unshaped  pile  of  rock, 
where  the  chance  visitor  still  daubs  Ganesh  in  his 
niche  with  raddle,  and  leaves  a  marigold  blossom 
or  two  to  rot  upon  his  clumsy  lap.  From  the  King's 
throne  on  the  topmost  roof  of  the  Palace  there  is  a 
view  over  seven  or  eight  hundred  square  miles  of 
the  Nizam's  territory,  and  the  justice  of  the  hack- 
neyed saying  that  calls  these  plains,  strewn  with 
misshapen  crags,  knolls,  and  mounds,  the  frag- 
ments of  an  earlier  world,  is  apparent. 

To  the  north  stood  the  famous  Tombs  of  Gol- 
conda.  Aurangzeb  descended  upon  the  place  from 
Daulatabad,  and  extinguished  the  Shahi  dynasty 
in  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century.  He  carried 
back  with  him  poor  Thana,  the  last  of  his  race,  and 
allowed  him  the  Chini  Mahal,  on  the  slopes  of  that 
amazing  fortress  hill,  as  his  prison.  It  was  a  useless 
annexation.  Aurangzeb,  like  Alexander,  did  but 
prepare  the  spoil  for  his  generals  to  divide,  and,  after 
he  had  been  laid  to  rest  at  Roza,  near  Ellora,  the 
rise  of  the  Nizams  of  Hyderabad  and  the  Kings  of 
Oude  was  at  the  cost  of  his  wretched  and  weak- 
kneed  successors  upon  the  Peacock  throne.  But 
the  old  dynasty  was  effectually  driven  out,  and 
these  tombs  are  the  sole  memorial  that  its  indi- 
vidual princes  can  claim.  Every  man,  remembering 


1 88  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

his  own  impatience  of  his  predecessor's  vainglory, 
took  care  to  build  his  own  tomb  in  his  own  lifetime, 
and  even  unhappy  Thana's  cenotaph,  unfinished, 
and  partly  in  ruins,  can  still  be  seen.  Thana 
sleeps  beside  the  rock-cut  corkscrew  tunnel  that 
still  is  the  only  entrance  to  Daulatabad.  Aurang- 
zeb  put  him  to  death  to  simplify  the  pacification  of 
Golconda,  and  probably  thought  himself  uncom- 
monly generous  to  have  allowed  his  prisoner  to  live 
in  his  summer  palace,  and  at  his  expense,  for  thirteen 
years.  So  a  Nizam,  or  "  Settlement  Officer,"  was 
appointed,  and  then  in  the  old  way,  the  viceregent 
Mayor  of  the  Palace  became  in  due  time  lord  of  the 
city  also. 

Looking  down  from  the  height  one  can  trace  easily 
enough  the  four  minarets  which  stand  where  the 
main  streets  of  Hyderabad  meet.  A  little  to  the 
right  is  the  huge,  irregular  block  of  the  old  palace  ; 
the  Nizam  lives  elsewhere,  but  holds  an  annual 
banquet  in  his  old  quarters,  whereto  European 
visitors  are  not  bidden.  Perhaps  some  violent 
reaction  from  the  wheels  of  unwelcome  progress 
is  then  celebrated,  but  the  next  morning  there, 
across  at  Secunderabad,  are  still  the  guardians  of 
India's  unbroken  peace.  Not  all  the  twenty  thou- 
sand men-at-arms  upon  whom  the  Nizam  can  call 


HYDERABAD.  189 

—some  say  the  number  is  nearer  a  lakh — shakes 
the  silent  and  invisible  grasp  that  lies  over  every 
village  of  India  and  three-fourths  of  the  princes 
of  India — Hyderabad  included — owe  their  place, 
their  fame,  their  wealth,  their  powers,  their 
very  succession,  to  that  untrumpeted  fact.  Yet 
to  a  man  of  the  type  that  holds  Golconda  and  Dau- 
latabad,  uneventful  assurance  and  stability  can 
never  be  worth  that  one  crowded  hour  of  glorious 
life  that  must  still  tempt  at  times  the  inheritor  of 
part  of  the  gorgeous  empire  of  the  Moguls.  His 
Highness  knows  the  situation  from  every  side,  and 
recognises  that  it  is  all  to  his  own  advantage,  but 
he  would  scarcely  be  worthy  of  the  precedence  he 
enjoys  over  all  other  chiefs  of  India  if  his  other 
self  did  not  sometimes  yearn  for  a  fair  field  among 
the  clashing  interests  of  Hindustan  and  no  favour 
from  his  best  friend,  the  British  Government. 


Gwalior. 


DUE  south  from  Agra  the  railway  runs  to  Jhansi. 
Soon  after  leaving  the  red  sandstone  reefs  of 
Dholpur,  and  the  curiously  ravined  and  shrivelled 
banks  of  the  Chambal,  the  country  changes.  The 
row-ridged  fields  of.  drifted  and  drifting  sand  give 
way  to  sparse  patches  of  arable.  The  inevitable 
ak  plant  has  been  driven  away  from  the  little  lots 
in  which  millet  and  Indian  corn  are  sown  and 
watered  almost  with  the  care  that  is  bestowed 
upon  a  garden  at  home.  Deep  in  the  bed  of  wide 
nullahs  every  square  yard  of  irrigable  soil  is  utilised 
and  agriculture  is  at  higher  pressure  the  farther 
south  one  goes.  One  feels  the  coming  of  a  strong 
man's  influence.  At  last,  out  of  the  bosom  of 
the  flat,  dry,  cultivated  plain  rises  a  gigantic  flat 
rock,  two  miles  in  length,  and  in  breadth  varying 
between  two  hundred  and  one  thousand  yards. 

To    those    who    know    Chitor    the    resemblance 
of  Gwalior  to  the  old  citadel  of  Me  war  is  striking. 


GWALIOR.  191 

Except  that  Chitor  is  considerably  longer,  the 
general  likeness  is  undeniable.  In  each  case  a 
huge  rocky  prominence  rises  abruptly  from  the 
flat  plain  to  a  height  of  about  three  hundred  feet. 
On  all  sides  the  descent  is  precipitous,  and  a  heavy 
and  well-loopholed  wall  runs  round  the  crest  of 
each.  Entrance  is  obtained  by  the  slants  of  a 
road  cut  in  the  solid  rock,  and  guarded  by  several 
strongly-fortified  gateways.  But  Gwalior  is  more 
than  a  fort.  It  is  true,  that  for  five  hundred  years 
its  chief  importance  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  pre- 
sented the  first  barrier  to  an  advance  southwards 
from  Agra  ;  but  since  1886,  when  the  British  troops, 
which  had  held  it  intermittently  for  over  one  hun- 
dred years,  were  finally  withdrawn,  its  real  signifi- 
cance has  been  rather  archaeological  than  military. 
The  Maharaja  Scindia  has,  indeed,  a  few  hundred 
men  in  the  old  defences  on  the  top  of  the  rock, 
but  no  one  knows  better  than  his  Highness  that 
the  day  of  impregnability  is  over  for  such  fortresses 
as  Gwalior,  and  that  in  his  splendidly-trained 
Imperial  Service  troops,  quartered  in  the  plain 
below,  he  has  a  weapon  far  worthier  of  his  pre- 
decessors' fighting  fame. 

On   the   back   of   an   elephant — Palace   and   Re- 
sidency  alike   point   an   Anglo-Indian   proverb   for 


192  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

hospitality — one  see-saws  strenuously  and  slowly 
up  the  steep  ascent  to  the  main  gate  beside  the 
Painted  Palace.  This  is  a  fine  structure,  simply 
designed  in  the  mass  and  decorated  in  detail  with 
tiles  of  an  exquisite  glaze,  some  charged  with  an 
elephant,  such  a  beast  as  the  designer  of  the  Bayeux 
tapestry  might  have  traced,  some  splendid  with 
blue  and  green  peacocks,  others  diapered  with  con- 
ventional work  in  free  and  bold  curves.  Others 
again — and  these  are  perhaps  the  most  impressive 
of  any — are  of  plain  pure  colour,  set  in  bands  or 
surfaces  of  utter  blue  so  exactly  of  the  colour  of 
the  deep  mid  sky  overhead  that  they  seem  to  make 
symmetrical  gaps  and  rents  and  spaces  in  the  solid 
stone  of  the  palace  wall.  Inside  there  is  indeed 
something  to  see  and  admire,  some  finely-chiselled 
capital  brackets  and  latticed  windows  in  the 
women's  court,  some  dainty  finials  also  along  the 
parapet,  but  the  foul  sweet  stench  of  the  bat 
battalions  who  have  had  undisturbed  possession 
of  the  inner  rooms  for  centuries  will  drive  away 
the  hardiest  of  intruders.  There  is  something 
apart  from  all  other  smells  in  that  of  a  bat  haunt. 
You  may  be  prepared  for,  and  even  proof  against, 
the  more  violent  stenches  of  life  ;  you  may  even 
be  almost  deficient  in  a  sense  of  smell  at  all,  but 


GWALIOR.  193 

this  particular  warm,  intimate  odour,  that  you 
will  taste  on  the  palate  for  ten  minutes  after- 
wards, and  long  to  be  sick  therefor — this  will 
yet  drive  you  headlong.  It  is  half  psychological 
in  its  effect ;  one  could  swear  that  in  the  dark- 
ness there  was  crouching  some  warm-blooded 
creature  of  the  octopus  tribe  ;  in  fact,  the  origin 
of  the  vampire  legend  is  clearly  founded  upon 
the  suggestions  of  this  fetid  smell  rather  than 
upon  the  ascertained  habits  of  those  foul  little 
beasts,  which  have  long  made  Gwalior  their  chief 
capital  in  India. 

On  the  flat  top  of  the  rock,  and  cut  into  its 
flanks,  there  are  several  things  of  interest.  All 
the  world  knows  of  the  gigantic  statues,  nude  and 
unashamed,  that  excited  Baber's  modest  anger, 
but,  more  accessible  than  these,  there  are  collected 
in  a  little  compound  a  hundred  and  one  relics  of 
a  Buddhist  age.  Buddhist  or  Jain — who  knows  ? 
The  two  are  first  cousins,  and  it  is  hard  sometimes 
to  disentangle  the  fragments  that  are  left  of  the 
two  faiths.  Truth  to  tell,  some  of  these  quaint 
sculptures  might  have  been  carved  in  Egypt,  or  in 
Siam,  or  in  Ireland,  as  readily  as  here  in  Central 
India.  The  bigger  statues  cut  in  the  side  of  the 
precipice  are  comparatively  modern — some  are  even 

13 


I94  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

dated  as  late  as  the  fifteenth  century.  Looking 
over  the  strong  breastwork  of  stone  which  sur- 
rounds the  fort  one  sees  the  new  town  of  Lash- 
kar  lying,  white  and  new,  in  among  the  well  irri- 
gated and  afforested  lands  below.  Here  is  the 
real  Gwalior  of  to-day.  The  page  is  turned  for 
ever  on  all  that  make  the  rock  splendid  and  san- 
guinary in  history,  and  in  Lashkar  the  advent  of 
a  new  era  is  blazoned  forth.  And  the  most  striking 
part  of  Lashkar  is  nothing  less  than  the  Maharaja 
himself. 

Scindia  is,  beyond  all  question,  the  most  ca- 
pable and  most  ambitious  native  chief  in  our 
Indian  Empire.  With  a  mental  dexterity  and 
wealth  of  information  that  might  be  envied  by 
many  an  expert  "  political "  twice  his  age,  he 
combines  an  industry  which  has  no  rival,  un- 
fortunately also  scarcely  a  follower,  in  other 
States.  Nothing  that  can  interest  or  affect  his 
wide  territory  is  left  unnoticed  by  the  Maharaja 
of  Gwalior.  Nothing  is  too  small  or  too  petty 
to  escape  his  direct  attention  and  action.  In 
the  course  of  one  short  afternoon  I  remember  his 
discussing  the  drainage  of  an  unhealthy  quarter 
of  Lashkar;  the  course  and  prospects  of  yet  another 
proposed  light  railway ;  the  financial  position  of 


GWALIOR.  195 

the  club  ;   a  new  electric  power  station  ;   the  proper 
collection  and  distribution  of  forage  for  his  Imperial 
Service  troops ;  the  destructions  necessitated  by  the 
new  market — the  exact  matter  was  the  abolition  of 
some   adjacent   stables   lest   the   flies    should   spoil 
the  wares  of  the  worthy  confectioners  of  Gwalior ; 
a  patch  of  bad  road  some  ten  miles  out  towards 
Datia,    for   which   the   local   overseer   would   have 
to  supply  the  best  of  explanations  ;    an  improve- 
ment  in   electric   thermantidotes   invented  by   his 
Highness    which    caused    an    even    breeze    rather 
than    a   draught,    and   the   lessons   of   the    Russo- 
Japanese   war.     Such   a   list,    incomplete    as   it   is, 
will   show   the    versatility    and   insatiable    activity 
of  this  man,  the  only  prince,  and  almost  the  only 
man,  in  all  India  who  adds  to  the  nimble  wit  which 
is  not  uncommon  there  those  rarest  of  all  qualities 
in   a    Southern   Asiatic — the   powers   of   initiative, 
foresight,  determination,  and  perseverance.     He  has 
put  the  past  behind  him.     I  asked  an  official  at 
the  palace   about   the   famous   Gwalior  pearls ;    it 
seemed   only   obvious   to   ask   about   them.     They 
are  beyond  question  the  finest  in  the  world,  even 
Travancore's   ranking   second   to   these   ropes   and 
collars    and    sashes     of     exquisitely-matched    sea- 
stones,  each  as  large  as  a  filbert,  and  ideally  perfect 

13* 


196  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

in  shape.  The  official  saddened  visibly.  "  Ah, 
his  Highness  will  take  no  care  of  them  ;  he  will 
not  wear  them,  and  so  they  must  go  bad."  Cer- 
tainly, it  required  some  stretch  of  imagination  to 
clothe  in  the  translucent  breast-plates  of  pearl 
which  his  predecessor's  picture  bravely  shows,  the 
sturdy  and  alert  figure  which  has  just  been  driving 
about  in  a  motor  from  one  municipal  improve- 
ment to  another,  confident,  certain  of  touch,  and, 
a  notable  thing  in  India,  ever  mindful  of  the  life 
and  limbs  of  the  most  tiresome  of  pariah  dogs 
asleep  in  the  fairway. 

Yet  the  matter  I  have  mentioned  last  is  closest 
to  his  heart.  At  home  or  on  his  travels  you  will 
always  find  beside  him  ready  to  his  hand  the  last 
book  upon  the  science  and  theory  of  war.  He  is  a 
soldier  first  and  last.  His  own  troops  are  models 
of  discipline  and  organisation,  and  to  the  fact 
that  they  are  his  own,  not  ours,  till  the  day  for 
their  employment  comes,  his  never-failing  interest 
in  them  is  due.  Some  time  ago  he  received  a  letter 
asking  him  to  become  honorary  colonel  of  some  corps 
of  Central  Indian  horse.  I  heard  him  refuse  bitterly. 
"  Honorary  colonel  ?  No ;  what's  the  use  of 
that  ?  It  won't  bring  me  a  step  nearer  active 
service.  Now,  if  they  had  offered  me  the  post  of 


GWALIOR,  197 

squadron  commander  instead "     His  shoulders 

completed  the  sentence. 

There  is  another  matter.  It  cannot  be  doubted 
for  a  moment  that  Scindia' s  position  in  India, 
as  acknowledged  head  and  champion  of  all  Hindu 
native  States,  is  one  that  is  yearly  more  and  more 
to  be  recognised  and  reckoned  with  by  us.  It  is 
no  light  thing  that  Rajput  and  Mahratta  alike 
come  to  him  for  advice  and  leading.  The  signi- 
ficance is  doubled  when  we  remember  that  this 
involves  at  least  one  concession  of  no  small  im- 
portance, for  Scindia  is  not  of  the  royal  Kshatriya 
caste,  and  he  has  won  his  pre-eminence  by  sheer 
ability  and  force  of  character.  One  could  write 
much  upon  this  man,  who  is,  on  the  whole,  the  most 
remarkable  character  in  India.  Perhaps  he  errs 
on  the  side  of  over-attention  to  detail ;  it  would 
be  better  to  leave  minor  matters  in  responsible 
hands.  Perhaps,  also,  his  energy  needs  concen- 
tration on  fewer  interests,  if  results  are  to  be  perma- 
nent. But  Scindia  is  either  a  great  man  or,  if 
not,  he  is  at  least  the  greatest  man  both  of  and 
in  India. 


Cawnpore. 


MOST  people  in  India  will  assure  you  that  Cawn- 
pore is  not  worth  going  to  see,  unless,  indeed,  you 
are  interested  in  the  manufacture  of  tents  and 
kaki.  I  suppose  for  the  most  part  this  is  true. 
For  the  majority  of  people  the  gift  of  imagination 
is  happily  rather  an  uncommon  one,  and  in  this 
particular  case,  while  on  the  one  hand  the  unima- 
ginative person  would  only  be  bored  by  memories 
and  alike  factories,  for  him,  on  the  other,  who  can 
reconstruct  in  some  measure  the  past,  there  is  no 
more  awful  city  in  all  the  world  than  Cawnpore. 

The  Indian  Mutiny  of  1857  is  beginning  already 
to  be  an  unsubstantial  tale.  It  is  not  yet  fifty 
years  since  that  Sunday  morning  at  Meerut,  but 
for  all  that  Anglo-India  cares,  or  even  remembers, 
it  might  be  five  hundred.  Fifty  years  !  Old  men 

—and  for  that  matter  men  not  over  middle-age— 
remember  the  terror  that  used  to  come  into  the 

eyes  of  natives  who  had   seen    our   vengeance.     It 


CAWNPORE.  199 

is  a  good  thing  that  this  is  gone.  It  is  not  a  good 
thing  that  foolishness  in  high  places  in  England 
should  delude  natives  into  thinking  that  their 
punishment  would  be  one  whit  the  less  were  history 
to  repeat  itself  to-morrow.  Every  now  and  then 
in  some  club  in  London,  or  where  some  long-retired 
veteran  is  revisiting  the  scenes  of  his  life's  work  in 
India,  you  may  catch  still  the  echoes  of  that  fearful 
time.  It  is  more,  perhaps,  the  way  in  which  these 
old  men  regard  1857  than  any  stories  they  will  care 
to  tell.  It  is  a  fact  soon  realised  by  those  who  are 
anxious  to  gather  the  truth,  while  yet  there  are 
survivors,  that  those  who  passed  through  the 
Mutiny  are  those  who  will  speak  least  and  wish  to 
think  least  about  it.  I  do  not  suppose  that  any 
man  of  the  force  which  avenged  the  massacres 
of  Cawnpore  has  ever  wished  to  revisit  the  scene. 
Elsewhere  there  is,  at  least,  some  record  of  success- 
ful heroism.  Delhi  and  Lucknow  stir  the  blood 
with  memories  of  great  deeds  achieved,  and  heavy 
though  our  losses  were,  no  one  could  fail  to  see 
that  our  hold  on  India,  and,  therefore,  our  power 
of  doing  good,  is  based  directly  and  splendidly 
upon  the  fighting  and  the  turmoil  at  these  two 
places.  But  though  there  was  heroism  enough, 
God  knows,  at  Cawnpore,  there  is  not  from  end  to 


200  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

end  one  single  ray  of  success  to  lighten  the  ghastly 
story. 

Do  you  know  the  tale  ?     Have  you  ever  cared 
or    dared    to    reconstruct    that    awful    scene  ?     Go 
out  from  the  factories  towards  the  river  and  turn 
into   the   quiet   of   the   great   circular  garden   that 
now  surrounds  the  well.     Your  horses  will  be  reined 
in   between    the   black   gates   of   the   garden,    and 
at   a   walk,    as   though   still   following   the   funeral 
of  those  that  lie  there,  you  will  pass  on  between 
branching   trees   and   flowering   shrubs,    footed   by 
red    roses   for    England    and    rosemary  for  eternal 
remembrance.     At   last   you  will  reach  the  mound 
which  marks  the  spot  of  the  well.     We  are  a  strange 
people.     Perhaps  we  were  right  so  entirely  to  alter 
the  appearance  of  that  awful  courtyard.     But  the 
cheap   German   Gothic  screen   and  claptrap   angel 
who  stands  with  crossed  palm  branches  over  the 
well-head  might  surely  have  been  spared  to  those 
who  hold  the  ground  sacred.     Another  curious  piece 
of  foolishness  is  the  rule  which  forbids  the  presence 
within  the  screen?  of   a  native  veteran  who  wears 
the  red  and  white  Mutiny  ribbon,  which,  on  the 
breast  of  a  native,  ranks  in  Indian  honour  scarcely 
after  the  V.C.  on  a  white  man's  tunic,  and  admits 
within    it    that    miserable    class   whose   cowardice 


CAWNPORE.  201 

and  treachery  has  been  exposed  a  hundred  times, 
the  so-called  converts  to  missionary  Christianity. 
But  there  is  one  entirely  good  thing  here,  and  it 
is  one  of  the  best  of  a  class  which  either  by  accident 
or  by  that  touch  of  genius  which  days  of  national 
stress  begets,  was  almost  always  great.  Everyone 
knows  the  epitaphs  upon  the  graves  of  Henry 
Lawrence  and  Hodson.  This  is  as  good.  Of  course, 
the  well-head  itself,  a  great  circle  of  meaningless 
stone  diapered  and  scarified  with  pattern  exactly 
where  simplicity  would  seem  to  have  been  obvious, 
is  in  the  same  deplorable  state  as  the  angel  and  the 
screen ;  but  the  inscription  round  it  is  almost 
perfect. 

"  Sacred  to  the  perpetual  memory  of  a 
great  company  of  Christian  People,  chiefly 
women  and  children,  who  near  this  spot 
were  cruelly  massacred  by  the  followers 
of  the  rebel  Nana  Dhoondopunt  of  Bithoor, 
and  cast  the  dying  with  the  dead  into  the 
well  below  on  the  XVth  day  of  July, 
MDCCCLVII." 

It  is  almost  inconceivable  that  the  persons  who 
possessed   the   infinitely   good  taste   to   write   this 


202  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

plain,  unembittered  statement  of  the  crime  should 
have  allowed  the  atrocious  decoration  of  the  spot 
to  be  carried  out.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  only 
one  statue  in  existence  which  entirely  fills  the 
requirements  of  the  well  at  Cawnpore.  It  is 
Chant  rey's  work  in  the  Stanhope  Chapel  at 
Chevening,  in  Kent,  and  those  who  have  seen  it 
will  know  why. 

"  Women   and   children Nana."     There 

is  the  truth  of  the  whole  thing.  There  is  the  reason 
why  men  who  knew  it  will  not  even  to-day  speak  of 
the  Indian  Mutiny.'  More  than  all  other  places  on 
earth,  the  well  of  Cawnpore  has  the  gift  of  clair- 
voyance to  bestow.  If  you  will  but  be  very  quiet 
and  humble,  it  may  be  given  to  you,  too,  to  realise 
something  that  you  have  never  understood  before. 
Go  and  sit  down  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  forty 
yards  away  and  then  perhaps  you  will  understand. 
I  do  not  recommend  the  sentimentalist  and  the 
soft-hearted  to  challenge  this  experience.  There 
are  many  people  in  the  world  like  the  lady  in  the 
lt  Heavenly  Twins,"  who  would  drive  a  mile  round 
rather  than  help  the  victims  of  an  ugly  accident. 
Yet  in  your  turn,  and  in  your  degree,  you  may  be 
able  to  understand  our  work  in  India  a  little  better 
if  you  have  the  heart  to  go  through  this  ordeal. 


CAWNPORE.  203 

The  sun  is  hot  upon  the  trim,  well-watered  roads 
of  the  garden,  and  the  English  flowers  dance  merrily 
in  their  carefully  tended  beds.  There  is  a  light 
leaf -clashing  wind  in  the  tops  of  the  mulberry  trees, 
but  you  must  fix  your  eyes  and  not  let  your  atten- 
tion wander  from  just  one  bright  white  prominence 
on  the  carving  of  the  screen.  Before  long  you  will 
find  that  the  screen  is  growing  a  little  dim  before 
your  gaze.  The  details  are  being  lost  in  an  ab- 
sorbent veil  of  gauze.  After  a  while  the  white 
angel  herself,  clear  for  a  moment  as  the  screen 
seems  to  drift  away  in  the  haze  of  a  mirage,  becomes 
misty,  and  after  rippling  like  a  taut  flag  in  a  breeze 
for  a  minute,  she,  too,  fades  away  and  is  gone, 
while  beneath  her  the  low  green  knoll  itself  is  dis- 
sipated into  the  white  glare  of  the  morning  sun, 
wherein  the  turf  and  gay  flowers  of  the  garden 
have  vanished  too.  There  is  a  sense  of  oppression 
—the  sense  of  the  nearness  of  houses  and  crowding 
people,  and  slowly  in  the  space  thus  cleared  there 
is  compacted  a  shape — the  thick  squat  mouth  of  a 
common  well.  It  is  round,  and  it  rises  some 
eighteen  inches  above  the  ground.  It  is,  perhaps, 
four  feet  across  within  from  lip  to  lip  ;  there  are 
three  low  steps  on  one  side.  Almost  between  it 
and  yourself  a  triple-stemmed  pipal  hangs  for  a 


204  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

moment  like  a  wraith  and  then  is  quietly  material- 
ised. It  grows  from  a  single  root  banked  up  high 
with  earth.  You  may  see  where  the  much  sitting 
of  gossiping  women  has  polished  a  projecting 
root.  To  the  left,  as  you  now  see,  stands  the 
"  House  of  the  Woman."  It  is  a  low  quadrangle 
of  brick  and  plaster.  Inside,  as  one  vaguely 
knows  from  having  been  there,  is  an  arcaded 
court.  In  the  centre  of  it  grows  a  single  neem- 
tree.  You  can  see  the  upper  branches  of  it  from 
where  you  sit  overpassing  the  long,  low  roof. 
The  side  of  the  house  that  looks  upon  the  court- 
yard towards  the  well  is  pierced  by  five  windows. 
Everything  is  very  silent. 

If  ever  you  wish  to  speak  again  of  the  Indian 
Mutiny  with  as  light  a  heart  as  you  have  spoken 
of  it  in  the  past,  you  had  better  rouse  yourself  from 
the  trance  and  go.  Already  the  sense  of  horror 
and  blood  is  thickening  on  all  you  see  as  once  it 
thickened  in  the  sight  of  Beatrice  Cenci.  A  quick 
light  laugh  from  an  upper  window  behind  you  makes 
you  quiver  to  the  quick  of  your  nails.  The  whine 
of  a  nautch  begins  again.  If  you  will  see  this 
thing  through — there  is  yet  time  to  go — you  will 
see  the  corners  of  the  courtyard  gradually  fill  with 
dark  faces,  and  you  will  see  three  men  make  their 


CAWNPORE.  205 

way  across  it  and  open  the  door  of  the  "  House  of 
the  Woman/'     It  may  be  that  you  know  the  story 
of  the  evening  and  the  morning  which  made  up 
that  day  of  cold-blooded  slaughter  of  women  and 
children  ;    it  may  be  that  you  have  read  all  that 
has  ever  been  written  by  man  about  the  Massacre 
of  Cawnpore,  but  till  you  have  seen  this  you  will 
never    wholly    have    understood.     Of    course,    you 
know  from  the  printed  words  in  a  book  what  hap- 
pened ;    you  know  what  you  have  been  told  of  the 
sight   within   the   house   on   that    sunny   morning. 
You  know  how  the  sword-cuts  that  missed  their 
aim  and  spent  themselves  upon  the  wooden  pillars 
inside  were  all  low  down  near  the  floor.     You  knew 
that  about  two  hundred  women  and  children  were 
butchered,  and  knew   that,  smothered  in  the   red 
heaps,  some  of  the  English  women  lived  still,  but 
not  that  that  hacked  and  multilated  mother  still 
defended  her  child  just  so — you  never  thought  that 
that    five-year-old    boy,    with    red    matted    golden 
hair  and  eyes  awake  with  terror  was  so  like  your 
own.     Two  dark  figures  are  telling  him  to  run  last 
and  escape  round  the  corner  where  a  red  sword  is 
waiting  for  him,  and  you  see  the  single  slash  that 
leaves  the   child  headless   and    quivering    on    the 
ground.     You  will  see  the  dragging  out  of  English 


206  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

women  from  the  house,  happiest  they  whose  faces 
have  long  been  set  hard  by  death.  One  by  one 
they  are  thrown  into  the  well,  ano!  those  that  an1 
living  still  are  not  even  killed  before  they  too  arc} 
thrown  down.  One  of  the  last  bodies  is  that  of 
the  young  English  girl  who  only  yesterday  faced 
Nana  Sahib  himself,  and  reproached  him  for  this 
return  for  all  the  kindness  he  had  received  from 
Englishmen.  Meanwhile  the  native  soldiers  of  the 
rebel  who  had  refused  last  night  to  do  his  foul 
work  are  shot  down,  pistolled  at  close  range.  I 
like  to  think  that  some  of  these  men  were  thrown 
down  the  well  and  still  lie  there  in  that  honourable 
company.  The  drone  of  the  day-long  nautch  ordered 
by  Nana  Sahib  whines  still  from  the  women's 
quarters. 

Do  you  now  wonder  at  the  scene  that  took  place 
two  days  later  when  the  Scotch  non-commissioned 
officer  and  twenty  men  of  Neill's  relieving  force 
burst  their  way  into  the  courtyard.  It  is  a  strange 
story,  one  of  the  few  that  I  have  ever  had  reluc- 
tantly told  me  by  a  survivor  of  the  Mutiny.  There 
was  a  minute's  silence — dead  silence.  The  sergeant 
moved  up  to  the  wall  of  the  "Woman's  House," 
and  from  it  he  picked  off  a  little  tangled  mat 
of  woman's  hair,  held  together  by  the  drying  mass 


CAWNPORE.  207 

of  her  own  blood.  Very  solemnly  and  reverently 
he  divided  it  into  portions,  as  though  it  had  been 
the  Bread  of  the  Sacrament.  Still  in  the  awful 
silence  he  went  down  his  little  company,  giving  each 
man  one  portion,  and  as  he  did  so  he  repeated  gently 
to  each :  "  One  life  for  every  hair  before  the  sun  sets." 
There  is  hardly  a  more  awful  scene  in  history. 

You  will  miss  all  the  meaning  of  Cawnpore  if 
you  do  not  understand  what  the  incident  meant  to 
these  dour,  silent  Scotsmen,  who  that  evening 
stayed  their  just  hands  when  and  not  before  the 
tale  of  lives  was  accomplished.  They  knew  them- 
selves to  be  the  instruments  of  a  vengeance  that 
was  not  the  vengeance  of  man.  With  no  uncer- 
tain voice  the  voices  of  the  murdered  women  and 
children  of  Cawnpore  cried  to  the  stern,  religious, 
upright  General  Neill  and  his  men  from  Madras. 
There  never  was  a  more  righteous  or  conscientious 
man  in  command  of  troops,  yet  all  the  world 
knows  how  he  brought  in  the  high-class  Brahmins, 
who  had  aided  and  abetted  the  escaped  devil  Nana, 
and  before  their  death  made  them,  with  their  hands 
tied  behind  their  backs,  lick  clean  with  their 
tongues  the  appointed  three  square  inches  of  the 
bloody  floor  of  the  room,  thus  damning  them  in 
eternity  as  well  as  life. 


208  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

So  Cawnpore  is  dull !  Believe  me,  there  is  no 
bastion  of  Delhi,  no  broken  house  at  Lucknow, 
not  even  the  well  two  miles  away  within  the  privet 
hedge  that  marks  Wheeler's  pitiful  dykes — not  one, 
not  all  of  these  tells  the  reason  of  the  silence  that 
is  upon  the  lips  of  the  men  of  eighteen-fifty-seven 
half  so  well  as  this  low  mound  of  grass. 

Yes,  people  are  forgetting  many  things,  and 
many  things  it  is  good  that  they  should  forget, 
but  it  is  not  good  that  all  should  be  forgotten.  To 
this  day  there  is  hardly  an  official  in  India  who  has 
not  the  materials .  for  another  greased  cartridge 
ready  at  his  elbow  on  his  writing-desk  ;  and  for  all 
such,  it  is  just  as  well  if  at  some  time  in  their  Indian 
career  they  should  make  occasion  to  go  to  Cawn- 
pore and  understand  the  things  that  belong  unto 
our  great  inheritance.  We  need  not  speak  of  them 
overmuch,  but  there  is  a  danger  that  our  tendency 
towards  eternal  forbearance  may  once  again  be 
misconstrued  and  breed  another  black  soul  like  his 
who  on  the  sixth  day  of  December,  1857,  disap- 
peared from  history  in  a  flight  of  dust  along  the 
road  that  led  to  his  own  place — Bithur. 


209 


Amritsar. 


Now  it  happened  once  upon  a  time  that  the  Moham- 
medan conquerors  grievously  oppressed  the  Punjab. 
For  many  years,  owing  to  the  timidity  or  to  the 
want  of  organisation  of  the  Hindus,  no  resistance 
was  offered,  and  the  whole  country  groaned  beneath 
the  oppression  of  the  infidels,  until  in  the  process 
of  time  a  man,  called  Nanak  Singh,  of  Lahore, 
determined,  even  at  the  cost  of  his  life,  to  put  an 
end  to  this  misery. 

For  this  purpose,  he  needed  a  small  band  of  men, 
upon  whose  courage  and  strength  of  mind  he  could 
entirely  rely,  and,  after  taking  much  thought,  he 
set  to  work  to  secure  this  small  company  in  a  way 
which  was  characteristically  Eastern.  One  day  he 
finished  his  meditations,  and  told  his  wife  to  collect 
into  the  house  secretly  seven  goats  and  keep  them 
in  an  inner  room.  When  this  had  been  done 
Nanak,  with  his  face  and  beard  smeared  with  ashes, 
brandishing  an  enormous  sword  and  foaming  at 

14 


210  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

the  mouth,  ran  out  of  his  house  into  the  market- 
place, crying  aloud,  "  Who  will  be  a  Sikh  ?  Who 
will  be  a  Sikh  ?  "  Now  there  was  no  such  thing  as 
a  Sikh  in  those  days,  and,  not  knowing  what  he 
meant,  the  good  people  of  Lahore  fled  in  terror  from 
his  path,  thinking  that  the  finger  of  God  was  on 
him.  But  at  last,  as  he  continued  for  the  space  of 
half  an  hour  shouting  and  foaming  at  the  mouth, 
and  brandishing  his  great  sword,  and  crying  out, 
"  Who  will  be  a  Sikh  ?  "  there  came  up  the  street 
to  him  a  man,  who  said,  "  For  me,  I  am  tired  of 
the  misery  and  oppression  of  this  world.  I  do  not 
much  care  how  the  end  may  come.  I  will  come  with 
you.  I  will  be  a  Sikh." 

So  Nanak  Singh  leapt  upon  him,  and  dragged  him 
strongly  with  him  into  his  house,  and  the  people 
peeped  from  their  house-tops  and  shuddered  at  the 
sight.  And  then  they  took  courage  and  came  again 
down  into  the  streets.  But  Nanak  took  the  man  and 
put  him  in  a  room  by  himself.  Then  he  called  for  a 
goat,  which  he  slew,  and  he  scattered  the  blood  all 
over  his  face  and  body  and  over  the  face  and  body 
of  the  man.  Then  again  he  rushed  forth  into  the 
market-place,  far  more  horrible  than  before,  with 
blood  matting  his  hair  and  dripping  from  his  sword, 
and  still  he  cried  out,  "  Who  also  will  become  a 


AMRITSAR.  211 

Sikh  ?  "  And  the  people,  thinking  that  he  had 
killed  his  disciple,  cried  out  upon  him  and  ran  again 
from  his  path.  But  in  no  long  time  there  came  up 
to  him  another  man,  whom  the  oppression  of  the 
Moguls  had  wearied  of  life,  and  he  said  thus  and 
thus,  saying  also,  "  I,  too,  will  become  a  Sikh." 
And  Nanak  seized  him  and  dragged  him  into 
the  house,  and  he  did  as  before,  and  killed  another 
goat,  and  smeared  himself  again  with  fresh  blood. 
Thus  did  Nanak  Singh  six  times,  and  even  then, 
though  his  body  and  face  were  all  clotted  and 
clogged  with  gore,  he  found  yet  another  man,  who 
said,  "  I  also  am  willing  to  become  a  Sikh/'  Then 
Nanak  Singh  returned  into  his  house  with  this 
last  disciple,  and  gathered  together  his  little  band  of  , 
seven  followers,  and  to  each  of  them  he  gave  a  sword, 
and  they  took  an  oath  that  they  would  never  rest 
till  they  had  thrown  off  the  yoke  of  the  Moham- 
medans. Then,  when  they  had  done  this,  all  eight 
of  them  rushed  suddenly  out  of  the  house  together, 
and  they  slew  in  the  city  until  sunset,  sparing  neither 
man  nor  woman  nor  child  of  the  accursed  infidel 
faith.  And  men  gathered  to  them  from  all  sides 
and  took  the  oath,  and  they  also  went  out  into 
the  by-ways  slaying  Mohammedans. 

Thus,    as   their   own   gurus    say,    was   the   faith 


212  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

founded.  After  this  they  formed  themselves  into 
a  band  of  fighting  men  joined  together  in  a  religious 
sect.  They  affirmed  that  God  is  one,  that  the 
worship  of  idols  is  abominable,  and  that  all  men  are 
equal  in  the  sight  of  God.  These  praiseworthy 
sentiments  have  become  slightly  weakened  in  the 
course  of  years :  caste  has  crept  in  among  them  to 
some  extent,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  many  idols 
in  the  world  are  as  sincerely  worshipped  as  the 
Granth-Sahib  in  the  Golden  Temple  of  Amritsar, 
the  Holy  Book  of  the  Sikhs.  They  are  intolerant 
of  heretics,  though  they  have  a  certain  fellow- 
sympathy  with  the  English  as  non-Mohammedans 
who — so  far  as  they  see  them — are  bred  to  the  art 
of  war.  The  tourist  who  is  admitted  within  the 
walls  of  the  Golden  Temple  of  Amritsar  must,  how- 
ever, enter  by  a  side  door.  For  most  of  us  this  is 
a  small  deprivation,  but,  considering  that  a  similar 
restriction  in  force  at  Delhi  in  the  Jama-Musjid  is 
relaxed  for  the  Viceroy  and  for  members  of  the 
Imperial  House,  it  was  rightly  not  thought  advisable 
that  the  Prince  of  Wales  during  his  late  tour 
through  India  should  view  the  Golden  Temple 
subject  to  this  or  any  other  condition.  An  ordinary 
visitor  may  go  and,  if  he  wishes  for  them,  may  even 
receive  the  prayers  of  this  Church  Militant  by  the 


The  Treasury  Square,  Amritsar. 


[Facing  page  212. 


AMRITSAR.  213 

easy  process  of  subscribing  two  or  three  rupees 
to  the  funds  of  the  faith.  He  will  then  have  the 
curious  privilege  of  having  his  name  and  the  exact 
amount  of  his  gift  cried  aloud  by  the  guru  or  priest 
in  attendance,  that  all  the  long-dead  priestly 
warriors  of  the  sect  may  know  that  Jenkinson 
Sahib  has  in  his  generation  and  after  his  ability, 
done  a  kindness  and  a  favour  to  the  faith. 

The  ornamentations  on  the  walls  are  exceedingly 
fine,  but  there  is  a  certain  lack  of  reality  about  this 
religious  pavilion  which  strikes  even  a  careless 
visitor.  The  truth  is  that  the  Sikhs  are  first  and 
foremost  a  fighting  race,  and,  therefore,  it  is  left 
for  those  unfit  by  age  for  active  service  to  carry  on 
at  its  centre  the  religious  practices  of  the  faith. 
The  ordinary  Sikh  regards  the  daily  recitation  of 
the  Granth  as  a  kind  of  worship  vastly  inferior  to 
that  of  thrusting  his  blade  "  through  the  teeth  of  the 
strong  blasphemer. "  Inured  to  hardship  and  accus- 
tomed to  assume  responsibility  at  a  moment's 
notice,  they  are  a  splendid  race.  Not  only  do  they 
form  the  backbone  of  the  Indian  Army,  but  it  is 
hardly  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  they  police  Asia 
also.  Next  to  the  London  policeman,  with  his 
outstretched  arm,  there  is  no  more  significant  vision 
of  the  force  of  law  upon  earth  than  an  impassive, 


214  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

bearded,  six-foot  Sikh,  entirely  careless  of  the 
gesticulating  impatience  of  a  crowd  of  Chinamen 
in  Hong  Kong  or  Rangoon.  It  would  take  too  long 
to  trace  the  fortunes  of  the  Sikhs  from  their  stern 
origin  to  the  day  when,  under  Ran]  it  Singh,  they 
bade  fair  to  share  with  us  the  Imperial  crown  of 
India.  To-day  they  and  the  Rajputs  are  the 
loyallest  of  the  races  of  the  Eastern  Empire,  but 
those  who  know  them  best  realise  that  under  the 
decorous  exterior  of  the  best  trained  Sikh  there 
still  lurks  the  spirit  of  those  who  in  1765  captured 
Lahore  and  made  their  Mohammedan  prisoners 
wash  the  floors  of  their  own  mosques  with  the 
blood  of  pigs. 

There  is  a  story  told  among  them,  and  firmly 
believed,  that  is  not  without  its  special  interest  for 
the  Englishman. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  were  three  gurus,  who 
sat  together  and  meditated  upon  the  truths  of  their 
religion.  They  were  holy  men,  and  had  times 
without  number  withstood  the  arguments  of  Islam. 
And  as  they  thus  meditated,  there  was  brought 
to  them  a  large  bowl  of  milk,  which  was  set  down 
upon  the  flags  of  the  court  in  which  they  sat.  The 
time  was  not  yet  come  for  their  midday  refresh- 
ment, and  the  morning's  visit  had  to  be  paid  to  the 


AMRITSAR.  215 

Durbar  Sahib  or  Golden  Temple.  Therefore,  leaving 
the  bowl  of  milk  on  the  flags,  the  three  gurus  went 
away  to  make  their  obeisance  in  the  holy  pavilion. 
While  they  were  gone  a  venomous  snake  crept  from 
a  hole  in  the  wall  and  slipped  within  the  bowl  of 
milk.  This  was  clearly  a  devil  sent  from  Mecca, 
for  his  purpose  was  nothing  less  than  that  he  should 
bite  and  kill  the  first  guru  who  put  his  lips  to  the 
bowl. 

But  from  another  corner  of  the  courtyard  a 
small  black  frog  had  seen  the  wickedness  of  the 
snake,  and  she  argued  within  herself,  "  What  shall 
I  do  ?  For  I  am  weak  and  powerless,  and  cannot 
drive  the  snake  away,  and  yet  I  alone  know  that 
the  first  guru  that  shall  drink  of  the  milk  will  surely 
die."  So  she  made  up  her  mind,  and  in  the  sun- 
shine hopped  across  the  courtyard  and  leapt  into  the 
bowl  of  milk.  And  the  snake,  perceiving  her  in- 
tention, bit  her  and  straightway  she  died.  At  that 
moment  the  gurus  returned  from  their  prayers. 
And  as  it  was  now  time  for  their  refreshment,  they 
approached  the  bowl  of  milk,  and  were  horrified  to 
find  the  frog  floating  upon  it.  And  they  marvelled, 
for  they  saw  that  the  frog  was  dead.  And  while 
they  marvelled,  one  of  them  tipped  up  the  bowl 
and  spilt  the  milk,  which  they  could  not  now  drink, 


216  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

upon  the  flags  of  the  courtyard,  and  at  the  bottom 
of  the  bowl  they  saw  the  snake,  and  they  under- 
stood the  matter. 

Then  they  searched  the  holy  books,  and  they  dis- 
covered beyond  all  cavil  or  doubt  that  the  frog 
which  had  done  this  noble  thing  had  been  foretold 
for  many  ages,  and  was  destined  to  be  reborn  as  the 
greatest  woman  in  all  the  world,  and  that  supreme 
power  and  grace  and  long  life  and  godliness  should 
all  be  hers.  And  that  is  why  in  all  love  and 
reverence  every  Sikh  believes  that  in  her  previous 
reincarnation  their  -Empress  Victoria  was  a  little 
black  frog. 

From  a  modern  point  of  view,  I  am  not  sure  that 
the  medical  work  done  in  Amritsar  is  not  as  in- 
teresting as  anything  there.  The  statistics  of  plague 
prevention  show  that  more  successful  work  is  being 
done  here  than  elsewhere  in  India,  but  the  hospitals 
of  the  town  should  be  visited.  I  went  with  Davys  to 
see  Colonel  Hendley  at  work.  He  was  operating 
upon  cataract,  and  that  morning  had  sixteen  cases 
— "  About  the  usual  number,"  he  remarked.  He 
is  possibly  the  first  cataract  operator  living,  and 
no  wonder.  He  has  had  experience  which  in  all 
probability  no  other  surgeon  has  ever  had  or  can 
ever  have,  except  at  this  centre.  Indeed,  in  twelve 


iSikh  devotees  at  Amritsar. 


[Facing  page  216. 


AMRITSAR.  217 

months  Colonel  Hendley  has  a  larger  practice  than 
many  of  the  most  noted  oculists  of  Europe  can  claim 
in  ten  years.  There  was  one  fine  old  havildar  with 
three  medals,  whose  turn  had  just  come.  He 
saluted  and  with  military  precision  he  obeyed 
the  surgeon's  instructions,  and  placed  himself 
motionless  on  the  table.  Even  for  ourselves 3  an 
operation  is  always  a  little  bit  of  a  jump  in  the 
dark,  and  it  is  mightily  to  the  credit  of  the  British 
Raj  that  even  in  these  matters  our  surgeons  have 
come  to  be  entirely  trusted  by  the  caste-ridden 
and  foreigner-hating  races  of  India.  Colonel  Hen- 
dley in  a  minute  reported  another  successful 
operation. 

But  there  was  a  touching  little  incident  that 
morning.  There  always  is  in  India.  Let  it  never 
be  forgotten  that  India  is  the  saddest  country  in  the 
world.  Close  under  the  tinsel  edges  of  its  luxury 
and  show,  there  is  always  to  be  found,  there  has 
always  been  found,  a  depth  of  misery,  against 
which  administration  and  charity  are  alike  power- 
less. Nay,  our  schemes  to  reduce  the  old  accepted 
mortality  from  famine  and  pestilence  do  but  in- 
crease the  over-population,  which  is  the  first  cause 
of  all  the  trouble.  We  must  be  true  to  our  trust, 
but  it  is  folly  to  ignore  some  of  the  results  of  our 


218  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

altruism.  While  I  was  there  a  small  girl  of  about 
eight  was  carried  in  in  her  father's  arms.  Colonel 
Hendley  was  busy  and  another  surgeon  made  a  rapid 
inspection  of  the  child's  eyes.  With  a  word  of  en- 
couragement he  passed  on.  This  was  not  his  busi- 
ness. The  child's  features  were  refined  and  even 
beautiful,  and  I  asked  him  casually  what  the  matter 
was.  "  Smallpox  pustules/'  said  he,  "  formed  over 
the  pupils  of  both  eyes  ;  case,  I  fear,  hopeless." 
He  went  on  after  a  moment's  pause  :  "  They'll 
make  away  with  that  child.  They'll  never  be  able 
to  get  her  a  husband  if  she  remains  blind,  so — she 
will  go."  I  had  once  more  found  a  case  of  the 
one  inexpugnable  prejudice  of  India.  Against  this, 
Western  methods  and  commands  break  themselves 
vainly.  Whatever  may  be  told  the  officials,  what- 
ever the  native  Congress  may  claim  in  proof  of 
advancing  civilisation,  the  fact  remains  that  India 
does  not  want  girl  babies  and  will  not  put  itself 
to  the  cost  of  bringing  them  up  unless  there  is 
some  fair  certainty  of  their  getting  married.  In 
seven  villages  in  the  Basti  district  it  was  recently 
found  that  there  were  one  hundred  and  four  boys 
and  only  one  girl. 

I  also  went  out  to  Tarn  Taran,  where  Dr.  Guilford 
took  me  over  the  leper  settlement.     We  hear  much 


AMRITSAR.  219 

about  Father  Damien  in  the  South  Seas,  but  here, 
beneath  our  eyes,  unnoticed  and  unpraised,  there 
is  being  given  a  personal  devotion  that  is  hardly 
less  than  his.  Besides  being  the  first  authority 
upon  the  Sikh  religion  and  history,  Dr.  Guilford  is 
the  resident  physician  of  the  leper  settlement  at 
Tarn  Taran.  This  refuge  dates  back  to  the  time 
of  Arjan  Singh,  who  compiled  the  Adi  Granth  and 
was  himself  a  leper.  As  usual  a  little  crop  of  pic- 
turesque legends  springs  up  round  the  still  waters  of 
the  tank  here.  One  strangely  modern  in  tone  is 
that  of  its  discovery.  A  poor  woman,  the  wife  of 
a  leper,  came  crying  bitterly  to  Arjan,  saying  that, 
helpless  and  repulsive  as  her  husband  had  been,  she 
had  yet  loved  him  and  cared  for  him,  and  that  he 
had  fallen  into  the  tank  at  Tarn  Taran,  and  out  of 
it  again  had  come  a  man,  young  and  clean  and  in 
the  prime  of  life,  who  called  her  wife.  But  she  had 
rather  have  once  again  her  old  unclean  husband, 
whom  she  knew,  and  who  was  bound  to  her  by  a 
thousand  ties  of  helplessness. 

There  is  little  or  nothing  horrible  at  this  settle- 
ment ;  only  an  intense  and  all-absorbing  pity  over- 
comes one  for  those  wretched  men  and  women 
upon  whom  destiny  has  borne  so  heavily.  The 
"  leonine  "  symptoms  are  rare  here,  the  hands  and 


220  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

feet  suffer  most.  One  feels  an  even  more  over- 
whelming compassion  for  the  children.  These 
children  of  leper  parents  are  born  as  clean  in  the 
blood  as  any  in  Mayfair.  Until  the  age  of  eight,  or 
thereabouts,  they  play  about  in  the  settlements 
without  a  taint,  and  could  they  be  taken  away  early 
their  cleanness  would  be  almost  certain.  But  in 
India  the  non-caste  English  may  not  take  away 
children  from  their  parents.  For  the  best  reason 
in  the  world — and  is  not  this  the  best  ? — it  would 
be  still  an  intolerable  outrage.  So  these  children 
remain,  and  one  day  Dr.  Guilford  will  find  on  the 
little  brown  back  a  curious  pattern  like  a  map,  in  a 
somewhat  darker  tint  than  the  rest  of  the  flesh. 
After  that  the  child  is  doomed,  and  no  care  or  skill 
on  earth  can  save  him.  It  is  a  miserable  remem- 
brance that  one  takes  away  from  Tarn  Taran.  One 
of  the  last  things  one  passes  is  the  open-sided  church, 
with  its  luffer-boards  in  place  of  glass.  For  this 
there  is,  alas,  reason  enough.  Out  in  the  open  air 
one  notices  little,  but  once  shut  up  in  a  room  with 
lepers  the  offensive  smell  is  overpowering,  and 
even  the  stout  heart  of  the  Doctor  quailed  a  little 
before  this  ventilated  church  was  built. 

The  road  back  to  Amritsar  is  almost  straight. 
To  the  right  one  can  see  the  first  beginnings  of  the 


AMRITSAR.  221 

new  light  railroad,  which  will  go  far  to  open  up  this 
almost  unvisited  part  of  the  Punjab.  It  is  curious 
to  see  native  navvies  working  two  hundred  yards 
away  at  their  most  modern  of  all  tasks,  while  beside 
the  road  stands  the  obelisk  that  marks  the  spot 
where  the  great  Guru's  head  was  taken  off  by  the 
infidel  enemies.  Through  them,  however,  headless 
as  he  was,  he  still  hacked  his  victorious  way  for 
four  miles  to  the  gates  of  Amritsar,  leaving  behind 
him  a  wake  of  dead.  If  you  want  legends  of  India, 
go  to  the  Punjab,  and  as  you  idly  drive  along  be- 
tween the  fields  of  cotton  or  maize,  with  the  sickle- 
winged  parrokeets  cutting  lines  of  curving  green 
fire  in  front  of  you,  you  will  be  as  ready  to  believe 
them — as  willing,  at  any  rate,  to  let  them  go  un- 
questioned— as  any  child  of  this  much-disputed 
soil. 


222 


Bikanir. 


THIS  is  a  strange  place  indeed.  If  the  dry  tides  of 
the  great  Indian  desert  are  now  threatening  the 
green  luxuriance  of  Jaipur,  Bikanir  stands  like 
another  Rockall  in  the  full  bosom  of  that  glaring 
and  waterless  expanse.  Here  there  are  no  trees, 
except  a  few  meagre  bebel  thorns  and  here  and 
there  a  row  of  dusty  nasturtiums  cherished  with  an 
extravagance  that  is  almost  sinful  from  the  scanty 
sources  of  Bikanir  water.  It  is  the  wells  here  which 
bring  home  to  one  first  the  appalling  arid  desolation 
of  this  artificial  town.  Every  traveller  in  India 
has  gone  through  the  mild  fascination  caused  by  the 
never-ending  climb  and  descent  of  the  bullocks 
drawing  water  from  a  well.  The  principle  is  as 
simple  as  anything  can  well  be.  The  mussuk,  or 
heavy  leather  bucket,  is  helped  out  of  the  well  by 
gravitation.  The  bullocks  probably  find  it  quite 
as  irksome  to  reclimb  up  the  slant,  when  the 
mussuk  is  emptied  and  is  again  descending  for 


BIKANIR.  223 

another  load,  as  to  pull  up  the  seventy  or  eighty 
pounds  of  water  during  their  returning  downward 
carry.  This  slant,  of  course,  is  in  direct  proportion 
to  the  depth  of  the  surface  of  the  water.  In  general, 
these  slants  are  from  fifteen  to  twenty  yards  long. 
At  Bikanir  the  water  is  three  hundred  feet  below  the 
surface  of  the  soil,  and,  of  course,  to  pull  up  the 
water  the  bullocks  have  to  go  and  return  an  equi- 
valent journey  every  time  the  mussuk  rises  to  the 
top  of  the  well  and  descends  again.  The  accom- 
panying illustration  will  show  the  extraordinary 
labour  that  is  thus  performed  by  these  patient 
beasts.  Under  these  circumstances,  it  is  with  diffi- 
culty that  enough  water  is  secured  for  the  mere 
purpose  of  quenching  the  thirst  of  the  good  in- 
habitants of  Bikanir. 

Their  ceremonial  ablutions  must  be  seriously 
curtailed.  The  accepted  description  of  Bikanir  by 
the  globe-trotter  is  an  "  oasis."  This  is  a  wrong 
use  of  the  word.  There  is  no  visible  water. 
There  is  nothing  to  justify,  or  even  make  possible, 
the  presence  of  a  town  in  the  centre  of  this  vast 
waste  of  gravel  and  sand,  except  the  underground 
springs,  which  afford  a  bare  subsistence  for  the 
descendants  of  those  who  in  other  days  fled  before 
the  land-wasting  of  two  successive  conquerors. 


224  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

His  Highness  the  Maharaja  of  Bikanir  has  two 
titles.  The  first  is  King  of  the  Desert — a  reference 
to  a  curious  old  story  that  Bikanir  only  came  to  the 
help  of  his  brother  Rajputs  on  the  famous  campaign 
against  the  Mogul  power  in  Gujerat  on  condition 
that  for  one  day  he  was  acclaimed  by  this  high- 
sounding  title.  The  last  occasion  on  which  it  was 
ceremoniously  accorded  to  him  was  on  the  date  of 
the  departure  of  the  present  Maharaja  to  take 
part  with  his  men  in  the  campaign  for  the  relief  of 
the  Pekin  Legation  in  1900.  Then  the  railway 
station  of  Calcutta  resounded  with  cries  of  this 
splendid  title,  raised  in  no  small  part  by  the  local 
banias.  The  second  title  which  his  Highness  enjoys 
in  popular  parlance  is  that  of  the  King  of  the  Banias. 
At  first  sight,  anything  less  congruous  than  the 
city  -  haunting,  account  -  keeping,  and  somewhat 
petty-souled  race  of  usurers  and  the  strong,  indepen- 
dent and  open-air  loving  men  of  the  great  desert 
can  hardly  be  imagined.  But  a  walk  through  the 
streets  of  Bikanir  will  supply  the  missing  link. 
The  banias  along  the  west  of  India,  like  the  Jews  in 
Europe  and  the  Armenians  in  Asia-Minor,  commer- 
cially akin,  have  in  their  turn  experienced  the  same 
fate  of  persistent  persecution.  So  bitter  was  this  at 
one  time,  that  the  banias  of  the  wealthier  class 


BIKANIR  225 

migrated  to  this  inaccessible  spot,  and  the  abun- 
dance of  beautifully-built  red  stone  houses  in  this 
arid  outpost  of  human  life  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable things  about  Bikanir. 

The  walls  of  the  town  are  still  in  good  preserva- 
tion, and  one  of  the  gates  remains  to  this  day  un- 
touched over  two  hundred  years.  It  is  a  tempting 
subject  for  a  sketch.  The  cusped  and  battlemented 
portal,  of  a  red  ochre,  is  flanked  by  a  substantial 
guard-house  on  either  side,  and  under  the  arch, 
framed  by  the  shadowed  ceiling  of  the  vaulted 
tunnel,  there  is  as  pretty  a  glimpse  as  could  be 
wished  of  the  long  pale  stretch  of  desert,  studded 
here  and  there  with  clean-cut  block-houses,  square 
and  white,  and  arched  over  with  the  white  glare  of 
the  sky  just  tinged  with  blue  where  the  line  of 
the  keystone  cuts  it.  Under  it,  quivering  in  the 
mirage  that  thrums  like  a  violin  string  over  the 
surface  of  the  desert  from  dawn  to  sunset,  stretches 
the  waste  to  the  purple  of  the  horizon. 

The  railway  now  runs  up  to  Bikanir.  You  can 
to-day  take  train  from  Merta  Road,  somewhere 
between  Jaipur  and  Jodhpur.  But  within  this  year 
they  have  had  to  dig  out  the  railway  lines  three 
times  already  from  the  drifts  of  sand  that  are 
always  accumulating  in  even  the  shallowest  of 


226  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

cuttings,  and  a  railway  engineer  of  Bikanir  told 
me  that  the  expense  would  probably  prove  too 
great.  It  is  curious  that,  though  these  steel  rails 
may  have  to  be  abandoned,  though  Bikanir,  which 
has  enjoyed  this  momentary  contact  with  the 
civilised  world,  may  again  be  shut  off  from  all 
human  communication,  except  that  of  camels  and 
carts,  such  as  it  knew  in  the  days  of  Shahjehan,  yet 
the  railway,  for  all  its  neglect,  will  remain  ready 
for  disinterment  by  any  large-souled  Maharaja 
in  time  to  come.  For  nothing  rusts  in  Bikanir. 
There  is  not  one  speck  of  rust  upon  any  one  sword 
blade  or  ring  of  chain  armour  in  all  the  armouries 
of  the  city.  The  mail  that  was  worn  last  year  when 
the  Prince  of  Wales  visited  Bikanir  was  two  hun- 
dred years  old,  and  had,  indeed,  needed  nothing 
save  a  repair  to  a  broken  link  from  that  day  to  this. 
In  the  Maharaja's  own  collection  there  are  some 
fine  Andrea  Ferrara  blades,  and  it  is  safe  to  assert 
that  not  one  specimen  of  the  great  smith's  work 
exists  in  Europe  to-day  in  anything  like  the  un- 
tarnished and  perfect  condition  of  those  in  this 
remote  collection. 

There  is  a  strange  prej  udice  here  which  is  so  often 
found  at  Rajputana.  The  Maharaja,  by  tradition 
and  by  preference,  has  built  himself  a  new  palace. 


Gossips  in  Bikanir. 


Drawing  water  :  Bikanir. 


[Facing  page  226, 


BIKANIR.  227 

In  old  days,  a  new  chief  contented  himself  with 
adding  a  few  rooms  for  his  own  personal  use  to  the 
great  palace  of  his  ancestors  in  the  town.  The 
present  ruler  has  elected  to  build  himself  an  entirely 
new  residence,  a  mile  outside  the  walls.  This, 
in  a  way,  affords  a  more  striking  contrast  than 
anything  else  in  Bikanir.  If  Jaipur  is  the  town 
that  Solomon  transplanted,  this  house  is  nothing 
less  than  the  palace  which  Aladdin's  wicked  uncle 
deported  into  the  desert  by  a  rub  of  the  lamp — 
the  same  palace  which  Aladdin  had  at  a  similar 
insignificant  outlay  of  trouble  built  for  his  bride 
in  a  single  night.  This,  believe  me,  is  the  very 
palace.  The  story  that  Aladdin  moved  it  back 
again  must  be  untrue.  They  say  here  that  it  was 
built  from  the  designs  of  Sir  Swinton  Jacob,  but 
everyone  will  agree  with  my  version  who  has  once 
seen  the  rose-coloured  walls,  terraces,  cupolas,  and 
infinitely  fine  fretted  windows  of  this  palace,  rising, 
without  an  interposition  of  even  so  much  grass  or 
herbage  as  a  Brixton  villa  can  boast  of,  straight 
out  of  the  gaunt  emptiness  and  still  moving  sand 
of  the  Great  Indian  Desert. 

It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  greater  contrast  or 
incongruity  than  that  one  experiences  in  leaving 
the  rooms  of  this  palace  luxuriously  furnished  with 

15* 


228  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

every  European  invention,  equipped  with  the 
latest  comforts  of  the  West,  served  by  telephones 
innumerable  and  lighted  throughout  by  electricity 
— and  then  finding  one's  self  obliged  to  allow 
full  room  for  the  passage  of  a  carriage  drawn 
by  two  elephants  along  the  high  road  leading  to 
the  town,  escorted  by  men  in  full  chain  armour 
upon  camels  as  well  drilled  as  any  cavalry  horse  in 
Europe.  Camels  are,  indeed,  the  best-known  pro- 
duction of  Bikanir.  They  are  the  finest  of  the 
Indian  breed,  and  the  Maharaja  has,  by  careful 
selection,  produced* a  class  which,  in  its  way,  is  as 
remarkable  as  that  of  the  horses  of  Jodhpur.  You 
will  never  do  much  with  your  camel  in  the  way 
of  beauty.  There  is  an  old  story  that  when  God, 
in  the  Garden  of  Eden,  had  finished  making  the 
animals,  and  had  sent  them  up  to  Adam  to  be 
named,  our  first  father,  moved  by  a  generous  spirit 
of  emulation,  asked  whether  he  might  be  allowed  to 
make  an  animal  too.  I  do  not  know  what  opinion 
the  reader  may  have  upon  the  strange  question 
raised  by  Sir  Oliver  Lodge  as  to  whether  the  con- 
ception of  a  deity  excludes  any  such  attribute  as  a 
sense  of  humour.  But  I  like  to  think  of  a  quiet 
smile  upon  Jehovah's  face  as  he  gave  Adam  per- 
mission to  attempt  the  job.  For  some  days  Adam 


BIKANIR.  229 

wrestled  with  the  problem,  and  finally  led  up  for 
the  approval  of  his  Creator  the  first  of  the  breed 
of  camels.  I  like  to  feel  that  there  was  laughter 
in  the  courts  of  Heaven  that  morning.  But  re- 
pulsively ugly  as  a  camel  is,  with  eyes  and  eye- 
lashes that  remind  one  of  the  Jabbawock,  with 
supercilious  and  flapping  lips,  with  methods  of 
fighting  and  expostulation  that  are  impossibly  un- 
graceful, and  with  housemaid's  knee  in  patches  all 
over  his  body,  there  is  still  much  to  be  said  for  this 
ungainly  beast. 

The  Maharaja's  palace  is  a  vast  structure  of 
white  walls  and  arcaded  galleries.  Tourists  are 
invited  to  admire  certain  rooms,  the  walls  of  which 
are  ornamented  with  pieces  of  broken  willow- 
pattern  plate.  The  tale  that  one  Maharaja  broke 
up  into  small  pieces  his  priceless  blue  china  for  this 
purpose  is  luckily  untrue.  Upon  examination, 
most  of  these  pieces  of  crockery  betray  an  un- 
mistakable European  and  even  a  mechanical 
colour-printing  origin.  The  finest  things  in  the 
palace  are  the  armoury  with  the  specimens  of  cut 
steel,  which  are  perhaps  without  parallel  in  India, 
and  the  gesso  ornamentation  of  the  halls  of  audience 
and  the  library.  The  latter  contains  one  Persian 
manuscript  of  the  Leilet-wa-Mejnoon3  of  which  the 


230  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

illumination  is  very  remarkable.  There  is  an 
ornamented  circle  at  the  beginning  of  the  manu- 
script, which  for  minute  and  intricate  detail  is  only 
surpassed  by  the  Irish  school  of  miniaturists  of 
the  seventh  century.  There  is  little  else  in  the 
halls  which  repays  careful  inspection.  The  town 
of  Bikanir  is  always  interesting.  Upon  the  walls 
of  the  more  important  houses  there  are  painted 
spirited  and  warlike  frescoes,  in  a  manner  which 
instantly  recalls  the  Bayeux  tapestry ;  and  the 
Cloth  Market  Street,  where  one  may  buy  saris  of 
yellow  and  orange, .and  cadmium,  and  a  score  of 
other  tints,  is  one  that  will  attract  a  visitor  day 
after  day.  At  the  jail,  you  may  buy  carpets  of 
excellent  manufacture  and  curious  leather  bottles 
made  of  camel  skin  much  over-decorated  with  blue 
and  red  and  gold. 

But  the  charm  of  Bikanir  lies  rather  in  its  unique 
and  clear  air  than  in  anything  else.  It  may  be 
that  in  a  few  months  it  will  be  a  difficult  thing  to 
make  a  journey  to  the  desert  city,  but  so  long  as 
the  railway  remains  in  working  order  it  will  be  a 
pity  not  to  make  this  easy  expedition  from  more 
favoured  spots  of  India.  There  is  but  one  place 
in  India  that  is  more  removed  from  the  greenery 
one  associates  with  civilisation,  and  that  is  Jaisul- 


A  street  in  Bikanir ; 


[Facing  page  230. 


• 


BIKANIR.  231 

mir,  where  there  is  little  that  can  repay  a  visitor. 
From  Bikanir  the  railway  lines  run  on  north  to 
Lahore,  and  should  one  tire  of  the  tedious  journey 
that  must  be  made,  the  curious  atmosphere  and 
even  more  curious  life  of  this  community  of  the 
wilderness,  it  is  an  easy  thing  to  escape  to  the 
capital  of  the  Punjab  and  enjoy  again  the  hotels 
and  gardens  and  lawns  of  Anglo-India. 


232 


Benares. 


THEY  brought  her  down  not  unkindly  to  the 
burning-ghat.  Her  little  almost  childlike  body 
was  given  over  duly  to  the  headman.  For  over 
an  hour  he  has  been  ready  for  her,  and  without 
more  ceremony  than  a  sprinkling  of  Ganges  water 
and  the  placing  of  a  few  grains  of  rice  inside 
the  lips,  all  that  is  left  of  poor  little  Yaradhani  is 
laid  out  upon  the  pile  of  logs  that  is  to  be  her 
funeral  pyre.  Her  relations  had  brought  her  down 
wrapped  in  a  cloth  which  they  were  evidently 
loath  to  lose.  With  almost  brutal  rapidity  the 
woman  possessed  herself  of  the  cloth,  leaving  the 
tiny  limp  brown  body  naked  on  the  logs.  She 
and  her  companion  then  shuffled  off  and  Yarad- 
hani was  left  to  make  her  last  great  journey  alone. 
After  all,  she  had  not  been  treated  so  badly. 
There  had  even  been  a  few  months  of  real  happiness 
in  that  little  nineteen-year-long  life.  Of  course,  she 
knew  that  the  end  might  come  at  any  time  after 


BENARES.  233 

her  husband  found  that  she  was  not  going  to  present 
him  with  a  child,  but  he  was  not  unkindly,  and 
things  had  gone  well  until  the  other  woman  came. 
From  that  moment  the  girl  knew  that  her  days 
were  numbered.  After  all,  she  did  not  think  it  was 
unfair.  A  man  must  have  a  son  and  heir  to  help 
him  across  the  fiery  gap  which  divides  this  world 
from  the  next,  and  if  one  woman  could  not  give 
him  one,  why  it  was  not  unreasonable  that  he 
should  replace  her  by  another.  I  wonder  whether 
the  Western  mind  has  ever  understood,  or  will 
ever  understand,  how  entirely  reasonable,  from 
an  Oriental  point  of  view,  Sarah's  action  was  in 
giving  her  Egyptian  handmaid  to  Abraham.  We 
in  Europe  have  gone  so  far  beyond  that  primi- 
tive conception  of  the  first  duty  of  a  woman  that 
there  are  probably  few  Europeans  who  would  not 
be  scandalised  at  the  moral  standard  which  per- 
mitted and  even  lauded  the  substitution  of  Hagar 
for  Sarah,  and  it  is  therefore  useless  to  explain  or 
expect  understanding.  If  one  may  believe  all  one 
hears,  the  tendency  now  shown  is  in  a  quite  opposite 
direction.  But  civilised  persons  in  the  West  must 
take  it  for  granted  that  such  an  action  as  Abraham's 
is  to  this  day  regarded  as  natural  in  every  corner 
of  India.  Yaradhani,  poor  soul,  did  not  grumble 


234  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

against  fate,  and  lying  there  nestled  upon  the  rough 
logs  of  her  last  bed  one  could  almost  catch  a  sigh 
of  contentment,  and  even  of  pride,  that  her  hus- 
band had  kept  his  word,  and  that,  though  he  had 
found  no  use  for  her  on  earth,  he  had  really  sent 
her  to  be  burned  beside  the  mother  of  all  rivers  in 
the   most   sacred  of   all   holy   precincts.     She   had 
exacted  the  promise  from  him  in  some  tender  mood 
many   years   ago,   soon,   indeed,   after  her  mother 
had  sent  her  over  for  the  first  time  to  the  house  of 
the  fourteen-year-old  husband,   to  whom  she  had 
even  then  been  married  seven  years.     Yaradhani 
lying  there  in  the  burning-ghat,   her  life's  dream 
accomplished,    little    knew    how    strenuously    her 
husband  had  tried  to  evade  the  fulfilment  of  his 
promise.     It    was    an    expensive    business.      You 
could  not  get  even  that  frail  little  body  transported 
two   hundred  miles  without  some  cost,   and  if  it 
had  not  been  that  the  village  Brahmin,  to  whom 
Yaradhani  had  once  told  of  the  promise  with  pride 
and   almost   with   joy,    had   insisted,    for   his   own 
profit,  upon  the  fulfilment  of  the  vow,  it  is  possible 
that  Yaradhani  might  after  all  have  been  cheaply 
burned  at  the  nearest  cemetery.     As  it  was,  to  save 
expense,  she  had  been  taken  to  Benares  before  the 
end  came.     As  to  that  end-coming  there  was  not, 


BENARES,  235 

however,  to  be  any  doubt,  and  the  two  women 
who  accompanied  the  body  to  the  burning-ghat 
understood  their  orders. 

All  this  seems  cold-hearted  and  horrible  to  a 
generation  which  has  forgotten,  perhaps,  many 
brutal  things  in  the  past  history  of  England,  but 
one  thing  may  be  said.  It  is  possible  that  the 
permanence  of  a  race  is  in  almost  direct  ratio  to  the 
small  value  it  sets  upon  the  life  of  the  individual, 
and  there  can  be  little  doubt  that  nowadays  we 
are  in  danger  of  losing  much  through  the  exaggerated 
estimate  which  it  is  the  modern  tendency  to  place 
upon  the  value  of  the  individual's  life.  However, 
this  is  no  place  to  preach  a  sermon  on  the  text 
provided  by  little  Yaradhani  as  she  lies  contentedly 
on  her  pyre  waiting  the  application  of  the  sacred 
torch.  Three  yards  away  the  sacred  water  of 
the  filthy  Ganges  heaved  within  a  light  boom  of 
bamboo.  It  was  mud-stained  and  a  heavy  coat 
of  black  wood  ash  stagnated  upon  it,  marked  here 
and  there  with  marigolds  and  red  powder.  The 
headman  lays  two  or  three  more  logs  slanting 
across  her,  and  then  with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders 
tells  his  small  seven-year-old  son  to  light  the  mass 
of  wood  shavings  on  which  the  pyre  has  been 
built  up.  For  his  own  part,  he  was  due  elsewhere 


236  UNDER   THE    SUN. 

across  the  ghat.  A  far  more  important  personage 
than  Yaradhani  awaited  his  attention.  It  was 
the  late  Prime  Minister  of  a  great  Maharaja  in 
the  plains.  Even  now  the  body  of  the  great  man 
was  being  ceremonially  borne  down  the  steps  with 
the  women  muffled  from  head  to  foot  in  white, 
wailing  continually,  and  the  dead  man's  son  ready 
to  set  with  his  own  hand  the  fire  to  his  father's 
body.  There  was  much  money  to  be  gained  here, 
and  no  more  time  could  be  wasted  over  a  mere 
woman.  So  his  little  son,  squatting  on  his  hams, 
was  left  to  poke  the  burning  torch  into  the  pyre. 
There  was  an  instant  response,  and  a  great  flame 
licked  upwards  through  the  logs.  The  pyre  was 
well  alight,  and  at  the  first  touch  of  the  kindly 
flame  Yaradhani  seemed  to  snuggle  down  almost 
with  relief  among  the  splinters  of  the  wood  for 
which  she  had  longed. 

That  is  Benares.  They  do  many  other  things 
in  this  great  and  religious  centre.  They  make 
atrocious  brasswork  ;  they  weave  the  most  beau- 
tiful kinkhabs  in  the  world.  Benares  sword- 
blades  are  known  all  through  the  Ganges  Valley, 
and  the  political  agitations  which  sometimes 
demand  the  attention  of  Calcutta  find  in  Benares 
also  a  congenial  home.  But  Benares'  real  life  and 


IP 

I 


BENARES.  237 

significance  is  religious  alone.  The  worship  of  Siva, 
the  subtlest,  and  in  some  ways  the  most  advanced, 
of  all  conceptions  of  a  deity,  is  centred  eternally  in 
this  strange  and  unwholesome  town.  It  is  curious 
to  think  that  to  the  strange  little  mind  of  Yarad- 
hani  some  of  the  more  advanced  conceptions  of 
scientific  theology  had  been  as  simple  as  they  are 
as  yet  unintelligible  to  the  ordinary  European  mind. 
There  are  very  few  travellers  in  India  who  can 
claim  that  they  understand  the  attributes  of  this 
member  of  the  Trinity.  He  is  the  god  of  death  ; 
he  is  the  god,  also,  of  reproduction  and  of  life. 
There  is  no  question  more  frequently  asked  by 
any  European  visitor  to  India  who  takes  what  is 
called  an  intelligent  interest  in  the  religion  of  the 
country  than  the  clue  to  the  reasoning  which  has 
given  to  one  and  the  same  member  of  the  Trinity 
such  apparently  contradictory  spheres  of  action. 
Brahma  is  the  Creator,*  Vishnu  is  the  Preserver. 
Why,  then,  should  both  death  and  reproduction 
be  the  joint  and  inconsistent  cares  of  Siva  ?  Not 
one  in  a  hundred  visitors  to  the  country,  unless 
their  imagination  has  been  quickened  by  reading 

*  In  all  India  there  is  but  one  temple — beside  Pushkar  lake-  to  Brahma.  As 
a  curiosity  I  have  given  a  photograph  of  it.  Two  reasons  are  given  by  Hindus, 
but  the  really  remarkable  thing  is  its  parallel  in  Christianity.  No  church  is 
dedicated  to  the  first  person  of  our  Trinity  either. 


238  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Chevrillon's  book,  or  some  other  of  the  few  volumes 
which  help  to  make  Indian  life  a  living  thing,  ever 
takes  the  trouble  to  reconstruct  to  himself,  so  far 
as  he  may,  the  true  attitude  of  a  native  towards 
his  religion.  Yet  Yaradhani  herself,  as  an  article 
of  her  creed,  had  long  understood  the  scientific 
truth  that  without  struggle  and  death  life  cannot 
be.  Siva  is  the  foreword  of  all  that  truth  which 
Darwin  published,  and  the  doctrine  of  the  survival 
of  the  fittest  can  hardly  be  symbolised  better  than 
by  the  trident  which  is  Siva's  own  particular 
emblem. 

Yet  in  its  Indian  home  what  a  foul  religion  this 
is.  Benares  itself  fitly  symbolises  the  great  faith 
which  finds  itself  centred  there.  Dark  and  damp 
and  narrow  are  her  entries  and  her  streets  foul- 
smelling  with  hot  and  luscious  stenches.  The 
marigold,  the  fit  symbol  of  lust,  flares  in  daisy 
chains  along  her  every  street,  and  in  the  hot  and 
stagnant  courts  both  air  and  sun  are  shut  off  by  the 
dense  foliage  overhead  of  her  matted  pipals.  You 
will  find  sleek  bulls,  good-natured  pirates  of  the 
fruit  and  confectionery  stalls,  living  emblems  of 
virility,  rambling  loose  in  her  narrowest  streets,  and 
the  crash  of  cymbals  and  the  monotone  of  drums 
make  hideous  discord  from  behind  walls  into  which 


The  greatest  Temple  to  Siva :  the  Golden  Temple,  Benares. 


The  largest  Temple  in  India  :  a  view  of  the  forbidden  sanctuary  of  Vishnu's 
Temple,  Srirangam. 

{Facing  page  238. 


BENARES.  239 

the  wholesome  light  of  day  has  never  penetrated. 
No  centre  of  Indian  life  has  been  less  affected  by  our 
presence  than  Benares.  The  European  quarter 
lies  two  miles  away  near  the  railway  station,  and 
most  visitors  know  little  more  of  this  labyrinth  of 
dirty  and  foetid  passages  and  stairs  and  courts  and 
tunnels,  which,  like  a  human  warren,  undermines 
the  mass  of  buildings  on  the  river-bank,  than  can 
be  seen  from  the  platform  of  a  river-boat  or  a  hasty 
plunge  into  the  slums  which  encircle  the  Golden 
Temple.  Yet  if  you  would  understand  the  life 
of  India  this  is  the  place  where,  and  where  only, 
it  can  be  learned. 

The  burning-ghats  down  by  the  river  are  the 
most  important  of  all.  Here  beside  the  flood 
which  washes  away  all  sin  the  black  mire  of  wood- 
ash  stains  and  scums  the  water  yards  out  from  the 
shore.  The  place  is  stagnant  and  dirty.  There  is 
here  no  pretension  at  ornamentation,  or  even  of 
dignity.  The  men  who  officiate  are  of  a  low  caste, 
yet  without  their  touch  the  holiest  Brahmin  cannot 
to  the  full  reap  the  priceless  privilege  of  Benares. 
There  is  squalor  in  every  corner  of  the  bank. 
Heaps  of  decaying  flowers  carelessly  raked  aside 
give  out  a  pestilent  odour,  for  which,  however,  one 
is  almost  thankful  in  that  it  somewhat  masks 


240  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

even  more  terrible  smell  that  hangs  always  in  the 
air.  Wailing  and  lamentation  are  the  only  sounds 
that  mingle  with  the  crackle  of  the  flames  or  the 
occasional  report  and  fierce  hiss  of  some  expiring 
log  of  wood.  There  are  perhaps  four  or  five  idle 
sightseers  squatting  along  a  projecting  parapet, 
but  their  interest  is  of  the  most  casual  description. 
You  will  find  it  at  first  a  hard  thing  to  understand 
the  real  and  awful  sanctity  of  this  littered  and 
neglected  spot.  Yet  here  is  the  centre  of  Hin- 
duism. The  ground  is  as  holy  as  the  water  which 
laps  up  against  it,  and  the  fortunate  man  or  woman 
whose  body  is  burnt  with  due  ceremony  here  knows 
—as  surely  as  the  Mussulman  knows  it  who  dies  in 
battle  against  the  'heretic,  as  surely  as  the  Buddhist 
knows  it  who  falls  fainting  upon  the  Ling-Khor  at 
Lhasa,  as  surely  as  the  Catholic  who  dies  after 
plenary  absolution  by  the  Church  knows  it — that 
eternal  happiness  is  reserved  for  him  beyond  all 
doubt  and  hesitation,  whatever  their  sin  or  negli- 
gence on  earth.  Sivaism  is  the  centre  round  which 
all  Hinduism  revolves,  and  you  will  learn  more  by 
seeking  to  understand  the  significance  to  a  Hindu 
of  this  grim  cremation  ground  than  by  loitering 
for  months  among  the  most  famous  temples  and 
shrines  of  India. 


The  Lion  Pillar  recently  found  at  Sarnath,  near  Benares. 


{Facing page  240. 


241 


Buddh-Gaya. 


SEVEN  miles  south  of  Gaya  lies  that  one  spot  which, 
if  votes  could  decide  the  matter,  is  out  of  all 
question  the  holiest  of  all  holies,  the  most  sacred 
rood  of  ground  upon  the  surface  of  the  earth.  For 
the  Buddhists  of  Asia  this  is  their  Gethsemane, 
Bethlehem  and  their  Calvary ;  this  is  their  Mecca 
and  their  Medina.  For  this  is  no  other  place  than 
that  wherein  the  most  Blessed  Master  received  en- 
lightenment and  the  knowledge  that  at  last  upon 
him  had  fallen  that  divinity  which  ten  thousand 
years  before  had  vanished  from  the  earth.  One  may 
tread  the  same  road  by  the  side  of  the  River  Phalgu 
as  that  which  Prince  Gautama  trod  fainting,  dis- 
heartened and  discredited.  We  may  be  sure,  too, 
that  the  landscape  is  much  the  same  as  that  which 
greeted  his  eyes  also.  Then,  as  now,  the  patient 
yokes  of  oxen  turned  at  the  end  of  their  furrow 
in  the  hot  earth  which  needs  but  the  three-inch 
scratching  of  a  primitive  plough.  Then,  as  now, 

16 


242  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

the  dipping  poles  of  the  wells  worked  in  unison, 
scattered  in  couples  and  threes  over  the  land- 
scape ;  and  then,  as  now,  the  mynas  chattered 
and  flirted  white  wings  in  the  hot  roadside  dust. 
Twenty-four  centuries  have  made  less  change  along 
this  country  road  than  twenty-four  months  in  the 
outskirts  of  one  of  the  larger  towns  of  India  to-day. 
The  wide  level  sands  of  the  Phalgu,  with  hardly  a 
trickle  of  water,  seeking  a  shelter  against  the  eastern 
bank,  are  revealed  and  hidden  now  and  again  as 
we  jolt  along  the  road  to  Buddh-Gaya.  If  you  are 
looking  you  may  see  somewhere  along  the  dusty 
road  a  flash  of  salmon-pink  that  will  betray 
the  presence  of  one  of  the  chelas  or  disciples  of  the 
Hindu  owner  of  the  land  on  which  Buddh-Gaya 
stands. 

The  last  mile  of  the  journey  is  particularly 
beautiful.  The  road  passes  over  a  tiny  nek  between 
two  grassy  folds,  and  a  pinnacle  of  golden  brown 
overtops  the  shisham  and  banyan  trees.  A  few 
straggling  houses  appear  through  the  trees  on 
either  side  of  the  road  a  quarter  of  a  mile  ahead. 
Those  on  the  left  are  the  farthest  outposts  of  the 
Mahant's  own  house.  This  worthy  official,  of  a 
shrewd  but  not  unpleasant  type,  is  well  content  to 
combine  the  collection  of  alms  from  devout  pil- 


BUDDH-GAYA.  243 

grims  of  every  creed  with  the  reputation  and 
sanctity  which  involves  the  person  of  the  Keeper 
of  the  Shrine.  The  fact  that  the  shrine  of  which 
he  is  the  guardian  has  no  original  connection  what- 
ever with  his  own  faith  is  a  matter  of  small  moment 
to  him.  It  is  his  property,  and  he  has  done  wise 
in  hedging  about  his  anomalous  position  with  all 
the  ceremony  that  he  can.  His  ancestors  were 
of  the  same  opinion,  and  the  present  Mahant  has 
in  his  possession  a  curious  document,  which  oddly 
emphasises  the  strangeness  of  his  position,  for  he, 
a  Hindu,  bases  his  claim  to  the  guardianship  of  a 
Buddhist  shrine,  now  under  the  control  of  a  Chris- 
tian Government,  upon  a  grant  made  to  his  ancestor 
by  a  Mohammedan  emperor. 

One  turns  sharply  up  a  little  hill  to  the  right,  and 
at  the  top  one  looks  down  into  a  wooded  amphi- 
theatre enclosed  on  every  side  by  a  low  wall  with  a 
gate  in  the  middle.  In  the  centre  of  this  natural 
basin  rises  the  temple  of  Buddh-Gaya.  Externally 
it  consists  now  of  a  highly-decorated  plinth  about 
twenty  feet  high,  from  which  again  springs  the 
central  spire,  over  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  in 
height,  rising  in  stages  like  a  South  Indian  temple, 
each  course  set  about  with  plaques  and  fluted 
pillars  in  set  panels  and  grotesques.  At  each  of 

16* 


244  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

the  four  corners  of  the  plinth  is  a  pyramid-crowned 
cell    perhaps    eight    feet    square    externally.     The 
construction  of  Buddh-Gaya  temple  is  interesting 
because   it   represents,    and   in    Northern    India   is 
almost  alone  in   representing,  the  old  Indian  form 
of  the  vihara  or  Buddhist  monastery.     There   are 
two  storeys,  and  though  it  is  thought  that  Buddh- 
Gaya  was  never  actually  used  for  that  purpose,  in 
arrangement    it  symbolises  the  primitive  distribu- 
tion of  the  rooms  used  as  dormitories  for  the  monks, 
set  about  and  over  the  central  chamber  of  worship 
which  contained  the  great  image  of  Buddah,  just  as 
may  be   found  in  Tibet   to  this   day.     This   con- 
struction may  be  well  seen  from  the  upper  edge  of 
the  hollow. 

We  look  down  into  the  wide,  tree-covered  bowl, 
in  the  centre  of  which  is  the  temple.  It  is  cum- 
bered about  on  all  sides  with  an  infinite  number  of 
small  shrines,  dagobas  and  stupas,  set  up  at  one 
date  or  another  by  the  pious,  but  now  for  the  most 
part  mutilated  or  in  fragments.  The  usual  entrance 
is  by  the  steps  descending  from  the  northern  edge 
of  the  amphitheatre.  To  the  right  at  the  bottom 
is  a  wide  concreted  floor  overhung  by  a  large  pipal. 
This  is  the  traditional  place  of  worship  for  the 
Hindu  pilgrims  to  the  shrine.  Until  the  visit  of 


Buddh-Gaya. 


Asoka's  Railing,  Buddh-Gaya. 


[Facing  page  244. 


BUDDH-GAYA.  245 

the  Tashi  Lama  last  December  no  Hindu  service 
took  place  under  the  other  sacred  tree — that  within 
the  temple  enclosure.  This  is  a  point  which  may 
be  of  importance  in  the  future.  The  tree  first 
mentioned,  that  which  is  identified  with  Hindu 
ritual,  grows  entirely  outside  the  sacred  limits  of 
the  Buddhist  shrine,  as  indicated  by  the  still 
remaining  fragments  of  a  great  red  sandstone 
railing. 

Passing   on   to   the  temple   itself,   one    enters  it 
with    increasing    reverence    and   expectation,    only 
to  see  the  name  of   a  certain  worthy  Lieutenant- 
Governor    of    Bengal    conspicuously    advertised   in 
company  with  those   of    the   architects   who  were 
responsible    for    the    restoration    of     Buddh-Gaya 
thirty  years  ago.     This  desecration,  for  it  is  hardly 
less,  is  one  of  the  things  which  the  better  taste 
of  modern  days  will  surely  rectify.     No  one  who 
knows  what  sound  work  was  done  by  Sir  Ashley  Eden 
in  all  parts  of  his  province  will  do  other  than  regret 
that   it   should  be   his  name   which  thus  vulgarly 
obtrudes  itself  upon  the  gaze  of  the  Buddhist  who, 
after  many  months  of  travel,  finds  himself  at  last, 
though  it  may  be  only  as  a  stranger  and  an  outcast, 
upon  the  threshold  of  the  Holiest  of  all  Holies. 
Inside  the  middle  of   the  temple  is  a  square  un- 


246  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

lighted  chamber  about  fifteen  feet  by  twenty. 
Upon  an  altar  facing  the  door  is  raised  a  great 
image  of  Buddha.  It  is  true  that  the  Hindus 
have  desecrated  the  august  countenance  with  the 
tilak  or  sect-mark  of  Vishnu,  but  the  significance 
of  the  place  remains  unmarred.*  There  in  the 
very  spot  where  the  Buddha  sits  upon  the 
altar — set  up,  perhaps,  within  the  Master's  life- 
time to  mark  it  beyond  all  possibility  of  doubt  or 
argument — there,  two  thousand  four  hundred  years 
ago.  Prince  Gautama,  beneath  the  leaves  of  the 
famous  pipal,  wrestled  his  last  with  the  lusts  of  the 
world,  the  temptations  of  the  flesh  and  the  wiles 
of  the  devil ;  and  there  he  received  in  humility  and 
awe  the  annunciation  that  God  was  now  born 
again  in  this  world  and  in  his  own  person.  The 
most  bigoted  of  Christian  missionaries  cannot  but 
feel  a  thrill  in  looking  upon  the  birthplace  of  a 
religion  which  has  set  upon  a  better  Way  more 
souls  than  can  be  boasted  by  any  other  faith  on 
earth,  and  which  in  no  small  measure  paved  the 
way  in  Syria  for  that  Christian  faith  which  owes 


*  That  the  Hindus  have  painted  the  marks  of  Vishnu  on  Buddha,  and,  worse 
still,  have  set  up  so  close  to  the  "  Diamond  Throne  "  a  great  stone  lingam, 
seems  an  insult  intolerable  to  be  borne.  It  is  not  to  the  credit  of  our  boasted 
religious  toleration  that  we  should  have  allowed  this  obscene  insult  to  be 
inflicted  by  one  set  of  our  Indian  subjects  upon  another. 


BUDDH-GAYA.  247 

as  many  of  its  highest  teachings  to  it  as  to  its  other 
great  forerunner,  the  Mosaic  Law. 

Here,  beyond  all  dispute,  here  exactly  and  here 
eternally,  so  long  as  the  world  lasts,  is  known  and 
marked  the  exact  spot  where  this  great  faith  began. 
When  Prince  Gautama  knew  his  divinity  he  rose 
from  under  the  tree,  and,  taking  eight  steps  to 
the  north,  he  walked  backwards  and  forwards 
eighteen  paces  to  the  east  and  to  the  west.  If 
you  will  go  outside  the  temple  you  will  find  a  long 
low  stonework  about  three  feet  high,  upon  which 
are  still  preserved  nineteen  stone  lotuses,  set  there 
in  primitive  days  to  mark  the  spots  at  which  flowers 
sprang  up  beneath  the  Master's  feet.  Going  on 
a  few  yards  further  you  will  turn  the  corner  of 
the  temple  to  the  left  and  stand  beneath  the  B6- 
tree.  This  is  beyond  question  the  lineal  descendant 
of  the  tree  beneath  whose  branches  Buddha  sat.* 
It  grows  eight  feet  from  the  centre  of  the  western 
wall  and  its  branches  brush  up  against  the  stained 
plaster  and  brick  of  the  plinth  of  the  temple.  Be- 
neath it  there  is  on  the  one  side  another  old  altar 
built  up  against  the  wall,  and,  on  the  other,  actually 


*  In  the  Museum  in  Calcutta  there  are  preserved  several  considerable  frag- 
ments of  the  dead  roots  found  itnderneath  the  original  "  Diamond  Throne," 
roots  which  must  be  those  of  the  sacred  tree  itself. 


248  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

supporting  one  of  its  biggest  boughs,  is  an  old  stone 
doorway  buttressed  by  a  casing  of  modern  bricks. 
A  low  wall  of  plastered  brick  encloses  on  three  sides  a 
little  area  in  which  these  relics  stand,  and  outside 
this  little  enclosure  again  is  a  clear    space,  which 
runs   also  all  round  the  temple,  and  was  used  for 
the   frequent   circumambulations    necessary  in   the 
ritual  of  the  Buddhist  faith.     This  clear  space  is  of 
especial   holiness,   and  was  once   shut   off    by   the 
stone    railing   which   the    Emperor    Asoka    set    up 
about  the  year  240  B.C.     The  original  temple  built 
by  Asoka  was  very  different  from   that  which  we 
see  to-day.     As  far  as  it  can  be  reconstructed  now, 
it  seems  to  have  consisted  of  a  high  wall  enclosing 
a   space,    of   which    the   greatest    dimensions   were 
from   north   to   south.      In    the    middle    of   this   a 
pillared  stone  temple  rose,  and,  in  the  centre  of  it, 
the  "Diamond  Throne/'  somewhat  entangled  with 
the  branches  of  the  Bo-tree  towards  the  west.     This, 
with  the  exception  of  the  nineteen  lotus  foot-marks, 
is  perhaps  the  only  part  of  the  temple  that  has  re- 
mained in  its  exact  original  site  from  the  earliest 
days  to  these.     Most  of  the  information  which  we 
possess  as  to  the  original  shape  of  the  shrine  set  up 
to  protect  this  holy  spot  is  derived  from  the  carvings 
upon  the  railing  at  Bharhut.     There  is  no  question 


BUDDH-GAYA.  249 

that  these  are  intended  to  represent  the  shrine  at 
Buddh-Gaya,  and,  crude  as  they  are,  they  present 
adequate  evidence  of  the  original  appearance  of  the 
temple. 

But  the  real  intention  of  this  chapter  is  not  so 
much  to  describe  the  archaeological  interests  of 
Buddh-Gaya  as  to  tell  the  story  of  the  greatest 
pilgrim  of  all  who  ever  made  the  journey  and 
worshipped  there.  Only  three  white  persons  were 
present  on  the  day  on  which  the  Tashi  Lama  made 
his  formal  obeisance  before  the  spot  on  which,  by 
the  unswerving  belief  of  Northern  Buddhism,  he 
himself,  Buddha,  and  no  other,  had  received  en- 
lightenment more  than  two  thousand  years  ago.  It 
is  difficult  for  a  Western  European  to  put  himself  in 
a  position  wholly  to  understand  the  importance  of 
this  visit.  Buddha,  that  is  to  say,  that  divine 
spirit  which  returned  to  earth  in  the  person  of 
the  Great  Teacher,  is  reincarnated  in  a  greater  or 
less  degree  in  several  of  the  great  members  of  the 
Tibetan  Hierarchy,  but  the  Most  Precious  Teacher, 
His  Holiness  the  Grand  Lama  of  Tashi-lhunpo, 
is  regarded  by  the  Northern  Buddhists  not  merely 
as  the  Vicegerent  upon  earth  of  the  divinity,  the 
only  position  that  his  nearest  parallel,  the  Pope, 
may  claim,  but  actually  as  the  prolongation  in  this 


250  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

world  of  the  spirit  and  essence  of  Buddha  himself. 
That  is  to  say,  for  the  little  crowd  of  red  or  yellow 
garmented  men  who  sat  beneath  the  Bo-tree 
at  Buddh-Gaya  on  the  twenty-second  of  December, 
1905,  the  occasion  was  no  less  than  that  of  Buddha 
himself  revisiting  the  scene  of  his  trial  and  his 
triumph,  after  its  abandonment  and  desecration 
for  many  centuries.  To  this  soul-stirring  situa- 
tion there  can  hardly  be  a  parallel  in  Christianity  or 
in  Islam.  I  had  the  luck  to  be  one  of  the  three 
Englishmen  who  witnessed  it. 

About  eleven  o'clock,  His  Holiness,  a  quiet 
and  refined-looking  man,  with  one  of  the  pleasantest 
smiles  I  have  ever  seen  in  my  life,  entered  his  state 
palanquin  and  was  borne  through  the  little  village 
to  the  gate  in  the  eastern  wall  of  the  sacred  en- 
closure. The  path  from  here  to  the  main  gate  of 
the  temple,  which  immediately  faces  it,  is  some- 
what cumbered  up  with  pillars  and  torii,  and  at 
that  moment  was  still  further  littered  with  some 
of  the  posts  of  the  Asokan  railing,  which  the  Mahant 
or  his  predecessors  had  taken  away  as  building  stone, 
and  which  have  only  just  been  restored.  The 
palanquin  was  set  down  outside  the  temple  door, 
and  the  Grand  Lama  stepped  out  of  it.  Moving 
steadily  and  with  a  natural  grace,  which  comes 


The  Great  Buddha  on  the  Diamond  Throne   Buddh-Gaya. 


[Facing  page  250. 


BUDDH-GAYA.  251 

easily,  perhaps,  to  one  who  has  from  his  infancy 
received  as  a  matter  of  unquestioned  right  the 
worship  men  pay  to  gods,  he  walked  up  over  the 
rice  and  flower-strewn  floor  into  the  outer  chamber 
and  stood  for  a  moment  at  the  entrance  of  the 
inner  shrine.  The  sight  was  one  that  it  is  im- 
possible fully  to  describe.  For  the  nonce  the 
inner  room,  with  its  great  Buddha  seated  upon  the 
throne,  had  been  transformed  into  a  Tibetan  sanc- 
tuary. Upon  the  Diamond  Throne  flared  and 
smoked  a  hundred  little  butter-lamps  of  brass. 
Great  katags  swathed  the  shoulders  of  the  idol, 
almost  covering  the  permanent  cloak  and  the 
official  robes  with  which  the  Mahant  had  decked  it 
for  the  day.  (At  the  same  time  he  had  almost 
entirely  destroyed  its  beauty  by  regilding  and 
repainting  the  face  :  so  far  as  he  could  help  it,  there 
was  little  left  of  the  great  peace  which  marks  the 
countenance  of  Buddha  from  Mukden  to  Ceylon, 
and  the  mark  of  Vishnu  had  been  repainted  with 
malicious  distinction  upon  the  forehead.)  On 
either  side  of  the  little  chamber  two  rows 
of  squatting  monks  muttered  a  monotone  of 
prayer.  A  little  to  the  right  of  the  doorway  the 
figure  of  the  Crown  Prince  of  Sikkim  alternately 
raised  itself  to  a  kneeling  position  and  then  again 


252  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

resumed  the  motionless  and  prone  attitude  in  which 
alone  he  dared  contemplate  the  holiness  of  the 
place  and  of  the  occasion.  On  either  side  of  the 
Grand  Lama,  as  he  paused  for  a  moment  at  the 
threshold,  was  a  Tibetan  monk  of  high  rank.  One 
was  the  sagacious-looking  face  of  His  Holiness' s 
prime  minister ;  on  the  other  side — and  it  was 
towards  him  that  at  this  supreme  moment  of  his 
life  the  Grand  Lama  leaned — was  the  friend  of  his 
childhood  and  of  his  manhood,  his  old  and  beloved 
tutor.  The  Lama  himself  was  dressed  with  perfect 
taste,  not  in  his  golden  robes  of  incarnate  divinity, 
but  in  the  plain  dark  crimson  frock  of  a  common 
monk.  His  lips  moved  automatically  ;  and  then 
he  stepped  forward,  and,  before  taking  his  seat 
upon  a  cushion,  he  bowed  once  slowly  and  as 
an  equal  before  the  great  image  of  Prince 
Gautama,  letting  his  forehead  sink  down  and 
touch  the  edge  of  the  Diamond  Throne.  He 
then  retired  and  assisted  pontincally  at  the  service 
which  continued  before,  during  and  after  his  arrival 
without  apparent  reference  to  himself.  The  door- 
way and  the  outer  chamber  were  thronged  with 
jostling  pilgrims.  The  larger  part  were,  of  course, 
Tibetans,  who  had  come  down  in  the  suite  of  the 
Grand  Lama,  but  there  were  representatives  also 


BUDDH-GAYA.  253 

from  Burma,  Ceylon,  Siam,  Nepal,  and  even  Japan. 
The  heavy  coils  of  blue  incense  smoke  mixed  with 
the  brown  reek  of  the  smoking  butter-lamps  and 
drifted  out  through  the  high  doorways  into  the 
sunny  spaces  of  the  outer  air.  The  drone  of  many 
smothered  repetitions  made  a  volume  of  incom- 
prehensible sound,  which  was  mastered  now  and 
again  by  the  louder  monotone,  rising  and  falling 
again  across  the  open  door,  of  the  Buddhist  monks, 
who  had  from  the  earliest  dawn  been  wandering 
round  and  round  the  temple,  always  in  the  same 
direction  as  the  hands  of  a  clock,  clicking  the  beads 
of  their  rosaries  and  murmuring  the  everlasting 
anthem  "  Om  mani  peme  hum." 

An  hour  later  the  Grand  Lama,  dressed  in  his 
full  splendour  of  gold  silk  brocade,  came  from 
inside  the  temple  and  took  up  his  seat  upon  the 
outer  throne  to  the  west  beneath  the  branches  of 
the  Bo-tree  itself.  Here  the  Buddhist  mass  was 
sung.  Tibetans  are  very  jealous  of  the  presence  of 
strangers  at  this  particular  service.  I  therefore 
had  asked  Captain  O'Connor  to  sound  the  Grand 
Lama  as  to  whether  he  would  object  to  my  making 
a  sketch  of  the  incident.  Permission  was  at  once 
and  willingly  given,  and  in  the  coloured  plate  which 
forms  the  frontispiece  to  this  book  there  is  at  least 


254  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

this  interest,  that,  whatever  its  artistic  demerits, 
it  represents  one  of  the  most  absorbing  incidents  of 
religious  history  that  have  ever  taken  place.  Even 
the  most  bigoted  opponent  of  what  a  misinformed 
West  calls  idolatry  will  admit  the  unique  situation 
in  which,  if  the  description  will  be  pardoned  by 
theoretic  Buddhists,  the  god  of  a  religion  returns 
for  the  first  time  after  many  centuries  to  revisit 
the  scene  of  his  incarnation,  his  trial,  and  his 
victory.  The  leaves  of  the  Bo-tree  rustle  lightly 
in  the  warm  breeze,  and  little  dots  of  sunlight 
filter  down  upon  the  gold  and  crimson  of  the 
kneeling  monks.  There  is  the  distant  cry  of  a 
child  herding  buffaloes  back  from  the  river  to  the 
village. 

In  an  hour's  time  the  mass  was  over.  The 
water  and  the  rice  had  been  distributed  and 
the  last  benediction  said.  Then  came  the 
ceremonial  reception  of  the  pious  by  the 
Grand  Lama,  and  with  the  rest  His  Holiness  re- 
ceived ourselves.  There  was  the  exchange  of  a 
katag,  a  moment's  pressure  of  the  hand  and  a 
kindly  word  or  two  in  Tibetan,  which,  alas  !  only 
Captain  O'Connor  could  understand.  Chairs  were 
given  us  on  the  Grand  Lama's  right  hand,  and  we 
watched  the  ceremony  and  the  varying  salutations 


Under  the  Bo-tree,  Buddh-Gaya. 


[Facing  page  254. 


BUDDH-GAYA.  255 

accorded  each  pilgrim  with  much  interest.  The 
kindliest  of  all,  an  actual  touching  of  the  brow  with 
his  own,  was  given  to  the  old  tutor.  Tea  was  then 
given  us.  Tibetan  tea,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is 
mixed  with  butter  and  salt,  and  becomes  rather  a 
thin  greasy  soup  than  anything  which  is  known 
to  Europe.  The  Grand  Lama  (bless  his  kindly 
heart)  had  heard  that  we  barbarians  drank  tea 
with  sugar,  and  with  the  best  of  intentions  he  had 
prepared  a  special  brew  for  us,  in  which,  on  the 
top  of  the  salt  and  butter,  he  had  added  handfuls 
of  sugar.  Even  O'Connor,  who  is  more  or  less 
used  to  Tibetan  drinks,  quailed  before  this  awful 
beverage.  There  was  another  kindly  salutation, 
and  the  Grand  Lama  was  borne  back  to  his  home, 
while  the  great  majority  of  the  monks  resumed  their 
circumambulations,  muttering  absently  the  while. 

All  day  long  it  went  on.  There  is  no  such 
holy  place  in  all  the  universe  as  that  which  is  sur- 
rounded by  the  rails  of  Buddh-Gaya,  and  the 
merit  which  a  man  may  acquire  by  walking  round 
and  round  is  greater  than  that  which  he  may  lay 
up  for  himself  anywhere  else  on  earth.  There  is  a 
sacred  road  at  Lhasa,  round  which  thousands  of 
pilgrims  annually  move,  within  the  loop  of  which 
even  the  infidel  and  the  stranger  may,  in  dying, 


256  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

reach  to  Nirvana.     There  is  the  even  holier  tract 
that   surrounds  the   cathedral   at   Lhasa,   and    the 
present  writer  had  once    no  inconsiderable  chance 
of   discovering    by  personal  experience   whether  a 
mere  Christian  actually  departing  this  life  on  that 
street  would,  or  would  not,  go  straight  to  Nirvana 
as  Lamaism  assures  the  world.     But  this  is  more 
sacred  than  either.     Far  into  the  night  the  hum 
of  pilgrims'  voices  came  up  through  the  darkened 
trees,  and  by  the  red  tossing  light  of  a  thousand 
high-flaring  lamps  ranged  upon  every  crevice  and 
sill  of  the  exterior  of  the  temple,  one  might  still 
see   the   patient    Buddhists   celebrating   this   most 
holy  opportunity  by  the  performance  of  the  cir- 
cumambulation    by    repeated    prostrations.      This 
most    effective    act    of    worship   entails    the   lying 
down  of  the  pilgrim  at  full  length  upon  the  ground. 
He  stretches  out  his  arms  and  makes  a  slight  mark 
in  the  dust.     A  prayer  is  then  said,  and  the  pilgrim 
rises  and  sets  his  feet  upon  the  mark  he  has  made. 
After  another  prayer  he  again  stretches  himself  out 
full  length  upon  the  ground,  making  another  mark 
with    his    outstretched    fingers.      This    process    is 
repeated  until    he  has  arrived  at   the  place  from 
which  he  started.      It  was  a  strange  thing  to  go 
down   among   the    scented   flowers   and   occasional 


BUDDH-GAYA.  257 

wafts  of  incense  in  the  dark  night  to  see  the  weird 
worship  of  these  human  "  loopers  "  in  the  fitful  light 
of  the  wasting  illuminations,  and  it  made  a  fitting 
termination  to  one  of  the  most  interesting  days  I 
have  ever  spent  in  my  life. 


258 


South    India. 


THERE  is  something  about  Southern  India  in 
general  which  marks  it  off  very  distinctly  from  the 
India  that  is  usually  known  to  the  touring  visitor. 
Its  remoteness  from  the  great  centres  of  Moham- 
medan religion,  and,  therefore,  its  freedom  from 
the  influences  of  Islam,  its  very  luxuriant  vegeta- 
tion, and,  therewith,  of  course,  its  warmer  climate- 
all  these  have  con'spired  to  make  the  characteristics 
of  the  Deccan  and  the  Carnatic  very  different  from 
those  which  strike  the  eye  so  clearly  in  the  north. 
Here  is  that  India  which  is  traditionally  known  to 
Western  nations.  Much  that  mediaeval  travellers 
have  written  about  the  India  that  they  knew  is, 
in  these  days,  true  only  of  Travancore  and  Cochin. 
Here  in  the  south  there  is  no  busy  and  commercial 
competition ;  here  the  chattering  and  seditious 
Bengalis  never  penetrate.  It  is  a  lotus-eating  land, 
where  superstition  flourishes  and  caste  binds  down 
its  votaries  with  an  iron  hand.  Here  the  more 


The  old  Dutch  Fort,  Quilon. 


\^Facing page  258. 


SOUTH    INDIA.  259 

venturesome  traveller  among  the  backwaters  of 
the  west,  or  a  sportsman  from  Quilon,  that  green 
gem  of  tropical  India,  pursuing  his  quarry  far 
into  the  ravines  of  the  Ghats,  will  still  find  the 
simple  life  that  was  known  to  Vasco  Da  Gama  and 
Sir  Thomas  Roe.  Here  he  will  find  villages  where 
human  sacrifice  has  but  recently  been  abolished. 
Stranger  still,  he  will  find  out-caste  tribes  of  Santals 
who  will  die  of  hunger  rather  than  accept  food 
from  the  hands  of  Brahmins  !  Still  on  the  Nilgiris 
there  await  him  the  thatched  huts  with  finials  of 
stone  where  a  dead  girl  is  married  to  any  chance 
passer-by  in  order  that  she  may  escape  the  awful 
punishment  that  awaits  the  spinster  in  the  next 
world.  Still  he  may  find  the  ordeal  by  fire  carried 
out,  or,  at  least,  some  old  resident  who  will  tell 
him,  truly  enough,  that  he  has  seen  with  his  own  eye 
the  Sanyasi  walk  confidently  across  the  red-hot 
bars  of  iron.  Nay,  in  Madras  itself  you  will  find  at 
His  Excellency's  evening  parties  that  the  relative 
aristocracy  of  the  native  girls  is  in  inverse  ratio  to 
the  length  of  their  skirts — in  a  word,  you  will  still 
find  nearly  all  that  in  your  childhood  made  stories 
of  India  so  fearsome  and  so  fascinating. 

If  this  is  true  of  the  ordinary  life  of  the  Carnatic, 
it  is  true  in  a  very  special  manner  of  the  great 


2<5o  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

South  Indian  temples.  Up  in  the  north  of  India 
the  European,  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  is  little 
anxious  to  penetrate  into,  or  stay  long  within, 
even  the  most  famous  of  Hindoo  or  Sikh  temples. 
Twenty  minutes  exhaust  for  some  people  the 
inside  even  of  the  Golden  Temple  at  Amritsar, 
and  though  he  is  indignantly  repelled  from  its 
namesake  at  Benares,  no  traveller  really  believes 
that  inside  that  crowded-upon  and  insignificant 
building  there  is  much  to  be  seen  of  interest.  It  is 
far  different  in  the  south.  Already,  at  Puri,  one 
would  give  an  ear  to  get  inside,  and  once  south  of 
the  Kistna,  nothing  proves  so  finally  and  irrefutably 
the  gulf  that  exists  between  east  and  west  as  two 
or  three  hours  spent  in  such  a  building  as  the  Great 
Temple  of  Madura. 

It  is  difficult  to  take  one  of  these  temples  as  being 
entirely  typical  of  the  rest.  Each  presents  over- 
poweringly  distinct  features,  though  in  certain  re- 
spects there  is  no  doubt  a  similarity  of  sentiment 
and  architecture.  The  whole  plan  of  these  great 
and  sacred  shrines  has  been  framed  with  a  view 
to  increase  in  every  possible  way  the  solemnity 
of  the  innermost  sanctuary.  At  Srirangam  there 
are  no  fewer  than  seven  square  enclosing  walls, 
each  of  which  contains  between  itself  and  the 


The  Main  Gateway,  Tanjore. 


[Facing  page  260. 


,      .  » 


SOUTH   INDIA.  261 

next  a  human  warren  of  temple  servitors.  The 
outer  wall  of  this  "  nest  "  of  concentric  squares, 
if  the  phrase  may  be  permitted,  is  3,072  feet  in 
length  and  2,521  feet  in  width,  20  feet  8  inches  in 
height  and  6  feet  wide  at  the  top.  Now  it  is  difficult 
to  appreciate  the  real  meaning  of  these  figures. 
They  can  perhaps  best  be  understood  by  reference 
to  a  map  of  London.  One  side  of  the  temple  wall 
would  reach  from  the  statue  of  Wellington  outside 
the  Royal  Exchange  to  beyond  that  of  Queen  Anne 
outside  the  west  front  of  St.  Paul's  Cathedral, 
while  the  side  at  right  angles  from  the  Royal  Ex- 
change would  just  reach  across  the  river  to  the 
southern  approach  to  London  Bridge.  In  area 
this  one  temple  is  thus  equivalent  to  about  one- 
fourth  of  the  City. 

Tanjore  is  magnificent ;  half-fort,  half  temple, 
it  stands  secure  without  the  city.  Hampi's  huge 
pyramid-spire  mourns  yet  the  desolation  among 
the  ruins  beneath  the  banyans  of  the  river  bank. 
Madura  is  a  city  in  itself  mysteriously  pent  up 
within  its  high  red  walls  and  heaven-piercing  gates. 

The  regulations  dealing  with  the  exclusion  from 
these  temples  of  persons  in  inferior  caste  are  very 
curious.  Certain  pariahs  are  not  allowed  even 
to  approach  the  outermost  portal.  Other  classes 


262  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

are  allowed  in  proportion  to  their  racial  status  to 
penetrate  into  the  temple,  passing  underneath  the 
great  gopura-crowned  gateways  one  after  another. 
One  by  one  the  less  worthy  castes  are  left  behind 
until  there  comes  a  moment  when  the  English- 
man himself  is  civilly  told  that  he  must  no  longer 
intrude.* 

In  South  India,  it  will  not  be  denied  by  anyone  who 
has  travelled  through  these  centres  of  religious  life 

*  This  question  of  an  Englishman's  status  remains,  so  long  as  we  are  the  ruling 
caste  in  India,  of  little  practical  importance,  but  it  is  of  interest  from  other  points 
of  view.  In  this  particular  case  the  Englishman  appears  to  occupy  a  position 
immediately  below  the  Brahmin  caste  ;  but  it  need  hardly  be  said  that  this  is 
merely  a  local  convention  for  the  purpose  of  showing  courtesy  to  the  white  man 
and  at  the  same  time  of  safeguarding  the  privacy  of  the  shrine  itself.  Elsewhere 
in  India  the  white  man  is  outside  caste.  He  is  not  above  it,  because,  as  has 
happened  to  the  writer  himself  in  Benares,  his  shadow  passing  over  a  tray  of 
chains  of  marigolds  will  so  far  defile  them  that  they  may  no  longer  be  sold  for 
presentation  in  the  temple.  Most  emphatically  he  is  not  below  it.  The  position 
of  the  Englishman  is  fairly  well  recognized,  and  it  is  illustrated  by  a  curious  story 
connected  with  the  Durbar.  The  position  of  the  Maharana  of  Udaipur  has  already 
been  referred  to  as  something  quite  outside  all  ordinary  precedents.  At  the  time 
of  the  Durbar  of  1903  the  very  thorny  question  arose  as  to  the  relative  rank,  or 
rather  rights,  of  a  man  like  him,  to  whose  social  superiority  all  India  as  one  man 
assents,  and  that  of  the  Mohammedan  Nizam  of  Hyderabad,  who  holds  chief  place 
among  the  native  chiefs  by  right  of  a  definite  treaty  concluded  with  his  predecessors. 
The  Maharana  was  approached  by  his  Resident,  who  pointed  out  to  him  that  we 
could  not  take  sides  in  the  religious  disputes  of  India,  but  must  obey  the  terms  of  the 
treaty  which  we  had  sworn  to  keep.  The  Mahurana  was  in  a  difficult  position. 
He  fully  saw  the  justice  of  our  claim,  but  from  his  point  of  view  it  \\as  impossible 
for  him  in  the  slightest  degree  to  relax  the  everlasting  claims  of  his  race  and 
faith.  He  made  a  curious  suggestion.  "If,"  said  he,  "the  Government  of 
India  will  place  between  the  Nizam  and  myself  any  white  man  of  whatsoever 
degree,  I  will  sit  in  Durbar  with  the  Nizam."  This  estimate  of  the  English- 
man as  a  kind  of  non-conductor  is  perhaps  as  suggestive  of  the  real  position 
occupied  by  ourselves  in  India  as  could  well  be  made.  It  is,  at  the  same  time, 
a  curious  fact  that  this  same  Maharana  of  Udaipur  in  his  own  palace  preserves  so 
strictly  the  traditions  of  his  race  that  his  wife,  the  Maharani,  is  not  allowed  to  see, 
or  to  be  seen  even  by  princesses  of  the  Imperial  English  House. 


BUDDHIST   CAVE,  ELLORA. 


SOUTH   INDIA.  263 

that  few  influences  in  India  possess  the  fascination  of 
one  of  these  majestic  memorials  of  human  labour 
and  human  devotion.  Perhaps  the  temple  at 
Madura  is  more  impressive  than  others.  Once 
within  the  great  thirty-foot  wall  of  red  stone,  which 
shuts  in  the  temple  on  all  sides,  the  visitor  is 
allowed  to  wander  at  will  through  a  labyrinth  of 
dark  halls  and  passages  and  columned  chambers. 
The  forbidden  precincts  here  are  of  small  extent,  and 
he  must  be  an  unimaginative  man  indeed  who  can 
pass  through  the  cloisters  without  a  touch  of  awe. 
Outside,  the  strong  white  glare  of  the  Indian 
noon  beats  down  mercilessly  upon  the  infinite 
carvings  of  the  gopura.  Strange  beasts  writhe  and 
quarrel  in  red  sandstone  among  the  tangled  yet 
orderly  ornaments  of  the  tapering  pyramid — bosses, 
cartouches,  panels,  knops,  billet-mouldings,  courses 
of  egg  and  lotus  pattern,  flame-like  edgings  that 
follow  faithfully  round  the  deep-cut  ascending  lines, 
or  fail  for  a  moment  where  a  fluted  plaque  stands 
boldly  out  amid  the  complicated  symmetry  of  its 
own  wide  course.  For  each  course  is  repeated  b^ 
that  above  it  in  a  lessening  scale,  until  the  design 
changes  at  the  very  summit  of  the  gopura.  Here  a 
ridge  supports  eight  or  nine  gilded  finials,  while 
at  the  end,  on  either  side  of  the  great  wedge  of  red 


264  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

stone,  a  fine  shell-like  ornament  over-arches  the 
symbol  of  the  divinity  there  honoured.  The  play 
of  light  and  shade  upon  a  gopura  is  infinite.  Never 
does  it  take  on  the  same  appearance  from  sunrise 
to  sunset.  Infinite  variety  is  caused  by  the  shadows 
of  its  deep-cut  ornaments  changing  from  minute  to 
minute,  and  the  very  hues  of  the  warm  apricot 
stone,  visited  or  abandoned  by  the  sun  from  hour 
to  hour,  change  as  the  lights  and  colours  of  distant 
peaks. 

Inside,  there  is  a  gloom  of  white  pillars  and  a 
whispering  of  bats  like  the  shaking  together  of  a 
bunch  of  thin  steel  ribbons.  Only  after  reflection 
back  and  forth  does  a  meagre  light  bear  in  from  some 
unaccountable  shaft,  and  by  it  you  may  dimly 
observe  the  dark  corridor  in  which  you  walk,  sup- 
ported on  either  side  by  great  grotesquely  carved 
piers  and  ceiled  above  with  twenty-foot  slabs  of 
stone.  In  just  as  uncertain  a  mystery  of  light  and 
shade  we  pass  through  to  the  labyrinth  of  pillars 
in  a  side  shrine  half  an  acre  in  extent,  where,  thrust 
forward  so  that  no  chance  of  missing  them  may 
occur,  figures  and  groups  obscene  and  foul  intrude 
themselves  to  ward  off  that  curious  superstition  of 
all  South  India — the  baleful  influences  of  an  English- 
man's evil  eye. 


A  sanctuary  in  Madura. 


\Facing  page  264. 


SOUTH   INDIA.  265 

The  natives  pay  one  little  attention.  If  they 
resent  one's  presence,  which  is  doubtful,  they  do 
not  show  it,  while  the  superior  officials  of  the  temple 
are  wise  enough  to  know  that  the  travelling  English- 
man generally  leaves  behind  him  in  one  way  or 
another  very  substantial  bakshish.  As  likely  as 
not,  while  you  are  looking  at  some  curious  figure 
of  a  dancing  goddess,  or  a  prancing  yali,  you  will 
find  your  shoulder  gently  rubbed,  and  a  second 
afterwards  the  great  mass  of  an  elephant's  trunk 
will  slide  down  over  your  shoulder  begging  for  money 
with  its  nervous  little  finger-like  projection  as 
eloquently  as  any  one  of  the  children  in  the  town 
outside.  Most  of  us  know  how  difficult  and  tire- 
some a  job  it  is  to  pick  up  a  sixpence  from  a  hard 
surface  just  after  the  nails  have  been  cut,  and  there 
is  something  positively  miraculous  in  the  dexterity 
with  which  an  elephant  with  his  apparently  clumsy 
trunk  will  raise  from  the  stone  floor  even  the  smallest 
of  Indian  coins. 

It  was  a  Tamil  who  first  used  the  famous  ex- 
pression, now  paraphrased  in  almost  every  country, 
that  "  an  arch  never  sleeps/'  Whether  this  be 
true  or  not,  it  is  clear  from  all  experience  that  an 
arch  can  be  drugged  into  stability  for  a  period  of 
years  long  enough  in  all  conscience  for  any  human 


266  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

structure.     Few  persons  in  Egypt  ever  come  away 
without  a  genuine  regret  that  the  master  builders 
of  olden  times  were  either  unacquainted  with,  or, 
if    they    knew    of    it,    deliberately    neglected,    this 
principle.      It    is    difficult    to    set    bounds    to    the 
possibilities  of  architecture  unfettered  by  modesty, 
expense,  or  the  lack  of  labour,  if  a  man  like  Khufu 
or  Rameses  XII.  had  but  had  his  ideas  of  magni- 
ficence whetted  by  a  knowledge  of  the  arch.     In  the 
same  way  the  vast  amount  of  labour  expended  on 
even  such  a  temple  as  Srirangam  fails  a  little  to 
produce  the  result  desired  because  of  the  necessarily 
short  views  that  always  have  to  be  taken  in  buildings 
which  depend  for  the  width  of  their  aisles  upon  the 
longest  possible  beam  that  can  be  safely  hewn  from 
the    local    variety    of    stone.     Men    like    Tirumala 
Nayakka  realised  this  want  of  lightness  and  en- 
deavoured to  supply  it  by  supporting  the  ceilings 
of  their  choultris  upon   hundreds  of  slender   and 
delicately    carved    columns.     Some    of    the     most 
beautiful    effects    of    these    South    Indian    temples 
are  gained  in  this  way.     The  thousand  gradations 
of  grey  light  that  penetrate  into  these  avenues  of 
stone,  deflected,  reflected,  obstructed,  cut  off,  ever 
dwindling  in  intensity  as  the  centre  of  the  hall  is 
reached,  make  a  tangled  chiaroscuro  of  light  and 


The  Processional  Car,  Seringapatam. 


In  a  South  Indian  Temple. 


SOUTH   INDIA.  267 

shade  such  as^I  think  is  rarely  seen  elsewhere.  But 
on  the  other  hand  there  is,  in  these  close  forests  of 
stone,  a  haunting  sense  of  oppression  from  which 
one  is  never  wholly  free. 

This  is  the  more  remarkable  because,  in  other 
parts  of  Southern  India,  the  rock-cut  temples 
not  only  exhibit  a  sound  appreciation  of  wide 
internal  vistas,  but  seem,  especially  in  the  case  of 
the  chief  Buddhist  case  at  Ellora,  to  have  under- 
stood not  merely  the  principle  of  the  arch,  but  the 
timbering  necessary  to  support  a  roof- vault.  This 
temple  at  Ellora,  of  which  a  photograph  is  here 
annexed,  is  one  of  the  wonders  of  India.  It  dates 
from  about  the  third  century  of  the  Christian  era, 
and,  as  a  title  of  honour,  is  called  the  Cave  of 
Visvakarma,  the  same  divine  carpenter  whose 
work  we  have  already  seen  at  Mandalay  and  Puri. 
It  seems  almost  impossible  that  architects  who 
here  used  needlessly  and  for  sheer  ornament  a 
Gothic  arched  roof  and  apse  should  have  been 
totally  ignorant  of  what  they  so  nearly  expressed. 

There  is  a  wave  of  Buddhism  beginning  again  to 
make  itself  felt  in  India  after  twelve  centuries, 
and  the  proposal  has  been  made  that  these  Buddhist 
caves  shall  be  handed  over  to  trustees  on  behalf 
of  the  many  thousand  Buddhist  pilgrims  who 


268  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

annually  visit  their  sacred  and  historic  places  in 
India. 

At  Ellora  there  is  also,  of  course,  the  Kailas, 
a  Hindu  temple  of  a  much  later  day,  which  appeals 
so  strongly  to  the  sense  of  picturesqueness  possessed 
by  travellers  that  the  Buddhist  caves  are  com- 
paratively little  known.  In  truth,  there  is  some 
excuse  for  the  neglect.  The  whole  building  is 
carved  out  of  the  living  rock  of  the  hillside,  outside 
as  well  as  in,  and  covered  with  carvings,  isolated 
statues,  or  groups.  Every  string  course  is  as  faith- 
fully represented  as  if  it  followed  its  due  level  of 
masonry,  and  only  a  certain  weather-worn  dis- 
continuity in  the  face  of  the  temple  wall  betrays 
the  fact  that  it  has  not  been  built  in  the  usual 
way.  It  stands  in  a  roughly-squared  area  round 
which  rise  precipices  of  rock  culminating  in  a 
little  flash  of  vivid  green  where  the  hill-side  vege- 
tation hangs  a  bouquet  into  the  pit,  and  each  wall  is 
honeycombed  at  its  base  with  strange  galleries 
and  pillared  ante-chambers  even  more  strangely 
decorated.  Stone  elephants  stand  in  eternal  attend- 
ance. A  gate-pierced  barrier,  as  well  finished  as  the 
temple,  hides  it  from  the  outside,  where,  a  hundred 
feet  lower,  the  long  flat  Indian  plain  stretches 
out  interminably — flat,  hot,  and  adequately  tilled. 


\  M 


SOUTH    INDIA.  269 

Of  all  the  Southern  Indian  temples,  Rameswaram 
is  best  worth  a  visit.  It  lies  on  an  island  between 
India  and  Ceylon,  famous  in  old  days  for  having 
been  a  pier  of  the  bridge  across  which  Rama  pursued 
Ravana,  King  of  Ceylon,  "and  brought  Sita  back 
again,  now  chiefly  receiving  attention  because 
it  must  be  a  pier  of  a  very  different  bridge — that 
which  will  join  up  the  railway  systems  of  Ceylon 
and  India. 

One  joggles  across  from  Mandapam  in  a  little 
steamer  in  company  with  a  /mixed  collection  of 
pilgrims — Rameswaram  ranks  third  in  holiness, 
after  Benares  and  Puri — steering  apparently  to 
all  points  of  the  compass  at  random,  but  really 
following  the  one  tortuous  channel  deep  enough 
for  the  five-foot  draught  of  our  little  ferry.  Once 
landed  at  Pamban,  a  Pilgrim's  Way  takes  us  for 
eight  miles  east  to  Rameswaram.  It  is  a  pretty 
road.  It  is  not  a  good  road.  Indeed,  it  is  in  some 
ways  as  bad  a  road  as  exists  anywhere  upon  the 
flat,  but  it  is  very  beautiful.  The  straight-running 
track  keeps  between  kerbstones  which  in  most 
places  have  sunk  into  the  overgrown  roadside  edges. 
Overhead  there  is  an  almost  continuous  green 
canopy  of  trees,  either  hemmed  in  at  their  roots 
by  tangled  undergrowth,  or  spaced  largely  by 


2/o  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

emerald  grass  plots.  Rest  houses  of  quaint  carved 
stone  await  the  weary  pilgrims  who  are  to  be  seen 
going  and  coming  continually  wrapped  in  medita- 
tion, and  thumb-nailing  off  the  beads  of  some 
rosary  of  crimson-dyed  kernels. 

Rameswaram  is  reached  on  the  edge  of  the  water, 
and  the  sand  whirled  up  by  the  south-westerly 
monsoon  has  sadly  chafed  its  seaward  wall.  Inside 
there  are  the  vast  corridors  for  which  the  temple 
is  famed,  a  full-throated  bazaar  in  the  main  aisle, 
more  corridors,  bathing  tanks,  more  corridors  still, 
and  then  the  forbidden  central  shrine.  I  dare  say 
there  is  not  very  much  going  on  in  these  sacred 
enclosures.  Elsewhere  is  a  photograph  taken,  more 
by  luck  than  management,  of  the  inner  court  at 
Srirangam,  whereto  access  is  denied  to  all  but 
Brahmins  ;  probably  Rameswaram 's  central  shrine 
is  as  uninspiring.  But  until  some  Brahmin  is 
born  with  the  gifts  needed  to-day  for  scientific  re- 
search, and  the  willingness  to  use  them,  we  shall 
never  know  very  much  of  what  goes  on  in  these 
innermost  sanctuaries. 

Here,  on  the  sands  beside  the  sea  at  the  last 
outpost  of  India,  the  journey  ends.  One  of  these 
days  I  will  piece  together  another  mosaic  of  Indian 
towns  ;  to  my  mind  there  will  not  be  less  of  interest 


SOUTH    INDIA.  271 

because  the  places  will  be  less  known  than  those 
which  for  the  most  part  have  given  their  names 
to  the  chapters  in  this  book.  But,  for  the  present, 
an  end  has  to  be  made  somewhere,  and  here  let 
it  be,  beside  the  south-eastward  reaching  sand- 
banks, hot  in  the  sun,  up  which  the  little  tides  of 
Palk  Strait  ripple  transparently.  Behind  us  is  a 
monotonous  drum-beating,  surmounting  the  long 
grey  wall  of  the  temple,  and  overhead  is  the  crisp 
rustling  of  hard  palm  fronds  one  against  another 
in  the  light  air.  It  is  the  last  rood  of  India,  and 
over  there  you  can  see  the  dark  line  of  cocoanuts 
which  means  Ceylon. 


2/2 


The  Later  Days  of  Nana  Sahib. 


NANA  SAHIB  was  driven  out  of  Cawnpore  by  Have- 
lock  on  the  i6th  of  July,  1857.  He  retired 
through  Bithur,  where,  amid  the  busy  preparations 
and  precautions  which  his  defeat  had  rendered 
necessary,  he  found  time  to  order  the  slaughter 
of  Mrs.  Carter  and  her  month-old  infant,  the 
only  European  left  within  his  reach.  It  is  to 
the  lasting  credit' of  the  widow  of  Baji  Rao,  and  of 
Kasi  Bai,  Nana's  youngest  wife,  that  they  had, 
six  weeks  before,  protected  Mrs.  Carter,  vowing 
that  they  would  destroy  themselves  if  a  woman 
in  her  condition  were  killed.  Now,  however,  they 
found  themselves  powerless.  Nana's  savage  deter- 
mination grew  with  every  check  he  received.  Bala 
Rao  his  younger  brother  weakened  in  adversity, 
but  was  swept  along  by  the  new  energy  of  the  rebel 
leader,  who,  realising  that  the  English  were  barely 
strong  enough  to  hold  Cawnpore  itself,  returned, 
and,  taking  up  his  residence  again  at  Bithur, 


THE   LATER   DAYS   OF   NANA   SAHIB.       273 

actively  superintended  the  revolt  in  the  North- West 
Provinces.  His  greatest  hope  lay  in  the  reinforce- 
ments from  Gwalior  under  Tantia  Topi.  The  latter 
seems  to  have  been  a  loyal  servant,  but  took  no 
pains  to  conceal  his  contempt  for  the  capacity 
and  pluck  of  N  ana's  generals,  none  of  whom  were 
given  posts  of  responsibility  in  the  force  of  about 
twenty-five  thousand  well-armed  men,  who  now 
drew  in  to  Bithur,  and  awaited  the  command  to 
recapture  Cawnpore. 

The  last  occasion  on  which  Nana  Sahib  is  cer- 
tainly known  to  have  been  in  the  field  against  us 
was  on  the  6th  of  December,  1857.  Cawnpore, 
during  the  temporary  absence  of  Sir  Colin  Campbell, 
had  been  retaken  by  the  rebels,  and  Tantia  Topi 
offered  battle  from  a  well-chosen  position.  Sir 
Colin,  however,  drove  him  headlong,  and  the  pursuit 
of  the  main  body  was  continued  for  fourteen  miles 
along  the  Kalpi  road.  Nana  Sahib,  however, 
wheeled  off  to  the  north-west,  along  the  Grand 
Trunk  road,  and,  halting  at  Bithur  only  long  enough 
to  pick  up  his  family  and  servants,  was  able  to 
distance  the  pursuit  of  General  Hope  Grant,  who 
was  delayed  by  the  need  of  securing  the  guns 
abandoned  by  Nana's  flying  rabble  at  Serai  Ghat, 
twenty-five  miles  from  Cawnpore.  Major  Russell 

18 


274  UNDER   THE    SUN. 

was  sent  on  with  a  small  force,  but,  after  a  stern 
chase  across  Oude,  he  failed  to  overtake  the  fugi- 
tives, who  just  made  good  their  escape  across  the 
Nepal  frontier. 

So  much  is  known.  What  happened  afterwards 
to  Nana  Sahib  has  hitherto  been  the  merest  con- 
jecture. It  was,  however,  reported  that  the 
notorious  rebel  died  in  the  following  year  of  malarial 
fever,  contracted  in  the  jungles  of  the  "  terai."  As 
can  be  imagined,  Lord  Canning's  government  were 
not  anxious  to  disprove  the  rumour.  Nana's  con- 
tinued existence  would  have  been  the  source  of 
never-ending  disquiet.  He  would  have  been,  till 
his  death,  a  centre  round  which  disaffection  must 
naturally  rally,  and  entirely  as  Sir  Jang  Bahadur 
was  trusted,  it  was  felt  by  everyone  that  Nana's 
death  was  by  far  the  best  solution  of  the  difficulty. 
In  the  absence  of  definite  information,  the  reward 
of  fifty  thousand  rupees,  which  was  placed  upon 
his  head,  was  not  cancelled,  but  to  the  relief  of 
everyone  the  report  of  his  death  at  this  date  came 
to  be  generally  credited,  and  was  eventually 
accepted  by  Indian  historians.  It  is  true,  how- 
ever, that  from  time  to  time  a  little  uncertainty  was 
felt,  and  the  issue  of  The  Times  of  December  28th, 
1860,  contained  a  letter  definitely  stating  that  Nana 
Sahib  was  still  alive  and  in  Tibet,  and  that  the 
rumour  of  his  death  in  1858  had  been  deliberately 


THE  LATER  DAYS  OF  NANA  SAHIB.   275 

circulated  for  political  reasons.  It  was  also  said 
that  in  1859  one  of  Hope  Grant's  men  actually 
offered  to  bring  him  into  the  camp.  But  years 
passed,  no  corroboration  or  further  news  was 
published,  and  the  original  story  came  to  be 
accepted  by  all,  though,  in  the  absence  of  definite 
information,  from  time  to  time  a  rumour  spread 
itself  that  Nana  had  once  again  been  discovered 
as  an  old  man  in  one  part  of  India  or  another. 
It  will  hardly  be  believed,  but  even  in  January 
of  this  present  year,  1906,  a  report  was  circulated 
that  the  aged  criminal  had  again  been  found. 
Luckily  perhaps  for  Nana,  there  was  something  to 
substantiate  the  report  of  his  death  in  1858,  and 
the  search  for  him  slackened  in  consequence.  But 
it  was  Bala  Rao,  his  brother,  who  actually  died  in 
that  year. 

Before  going  on,  it  is  necessary  to  re-state  some 
of  the  facts  connected  with  Nana  Sahib's  position. 
Many  people  to-day  may  be  ignorant  of  the 
reasons  which  induced  the  rebels  of  1857  t°  accept 
the  guidance  of  Nana,  and  even  those  who  are 
well  acquainted  with  the  facts  may  be  glad  of 
something  to  remind  them  of  the  details  of  the 
Peshwa's  pedigree. 

Nana  Sahib's  name  was  Dhandu  Pant.  He 
was  the  second  son  of  Madho  Rao  Bhao  Bhat, 
whose  wife  was  the  sister  of  the  wife  of  Baji 

18* 


276  UNDER  THE  SUN. 

Rao,  the  last  Peshwa  of  Poona.  Baji  Rao  was 
the  representative  of  the  Mahratta  claim  to  the 
Empire  of  India,  and  when  he  went  into  com- 
pulsory retirement,  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  took 
with  him  the  sympathy  of  a  large  number  of  Hindus, 
though  his  personal  record  was  not  of  the  best. 
The  English  government  treated  him  with  generosity. 
It  allowed  him  the  handsome  pension  of  £80,000  a 
year — he  was  childless,  and  it  was  made  clear  from 
the  outset  that  this  was  to  be  a  personal  annuity, 
and  would  not  descend  to  anyone — and  permission 
to  choose  his  own  place  of  residence.  He  chose 
Bithur,  a  town  about  thirteen  miles  north-north- 
west of  Cawnpore. 

It  is,  of  course,  necessary  for  a  Hindu  to  have 
a  son — by  blood  or  adoption — to  perform  neces- 
sary funeral  rites,  and  for  that  reason  Baji  Rao, 
in  his  childlessness,  cast  about  for  a  boy  whom 
he  might  adopt.  His  choice  fell  upon  Dhandu 
Pant,  together  with  another  who  died  soon  after- 
wards and  whose  place  was  filled  ultimately  by 
Gangadhai  Bhat  or  Bala  Rao,  Dhandu  Pant's 
younger  brother,  a  man  of  no  character. 

Dhandu  Pant  was  chosen  because,  by  Hindu 
law — and  the  Bhats,  though  the  name  seems 
vulgar,  were,  by  blood,  Konkanasta  Brahmins 
of  the  straitest  sect — an  eldest  son  may  not  be 
adopted.  His  eldest  brother,  Baba  Bhat,  was  thus 


THE  LATER  DAYS  OF  NANA  SAHIB.   277 

passed  over  and  always  appears  in  the  history  of  the 
Mutiny  as  his  younger  brother's  subordinate.  He 
escaped  detection  in  1858,  and,  it  is  said,  actually 
lived  for  many  years  in  the  Sanjaoli  bazaar  near 
Simla,  disguised  as  an  ascetic.  He  acted  as  Nana's 
treasurer  and  was  High  Commissioner  of  Cawn- 
pore  at  the  time  of  the  Massacre.  Dhandu  adopted 
the  name  by  which  he  is  universally  known,  Nana 
Sahib,  and  went  to  live  with  Baji  Rao  at  Bithur. 

The  ex-Peshwa's  choice  of  Bithur — or,  as  it  was 
then  frequently  called,  Brahma-wat — as  the  place  of 
his  exile,  is  significant.  Although  the  Company's 
Intelligence  Department  seem  to  have  forgotten 
the  fact,  Bithur  is  well  known  to  Hindus  as  the 
especial  place  of  resort  of  those  who  have  a  griev- 
ance. It  is  reputed  to  be  the  accomplisher  of 
every  injured  man's  object.  Immediately  after 
the  transference  of  Baji  Rao  to  this  auspicious 
spot,  Brahmins  from  Benares,  and  from  the  south, 
flocked  hither,  and  mystic  rites  were  performed 
—rites,  however,  which  did  not  prevent  Baji  Rao 
dying  in  1851  without  seeing  any  fruit  thereof. 
Meanwhile  Nana  Sahib  showed  no  unwillingness  to 
make  friends  with  the  English  ;  he  even  went  out 
of  his  way  to  invite  parties  of  officers  and  ladies  to 
Bithur. 

But   the   seeds   of   trouble   were   sown   in   1851, 
when  Nana  Sahib — to  take  the  most  trustworthy 


278  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

evidence — was  twenty-seven  years  old.  Baji  Rao, 
in  his  will,  left  property  to  Nana  which  has  been 
estimated  at  two  million  pounds.  But  Nana 
immediately  claimed  in  addition  the  continuance 
to  himself  of  Baji  Rao's  huge  pension.  This  was 
refused.  The  Court  of  Directors,  as  an  act  of 
grace,  offered  him  the  revenues  of  a  small  district, 
but  this  olive-branch  was  rejected,  and  Azimullah 
Khan  was  despatched  to  London  to  plead  his 
cause.  This  attempt  was  unsuccessful,  but  Nana, 
biding  his  time,  showed  little  resentment,  and  re- 
mained on  excellent  terms  with  the  garrison  of 
Cawnpore. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  again  the  only  too 
well-known  story  of  Cawnpore.  When  Nana  fled 
north  to  Nepal,  he  took  with  him  the  widow  of 
the  late  Peshwa  and  his  own  wife,  Kasi  Bai.  This 
girl — for  even  then  she  was  not  fourteen  years 
old — was  the  daughter  of  one  Ramchandra  Sak- 
haram  Karmakar.  She  had  been  married  for  some 
years  previously,  but  sent  to  Nana  only  in  1854, 
when  she  was  ten.  Her  name  was  originally  Sundra 
Bai,  and  she  was  known  in  N ana's  household  both  as 
Kasi  Bai  and  Krishna  Bai.  She  was  also  frequently 
called  Kaku  Bai.  This  confusion  of  names  is 
characteristic  of  everyone  concerned.  Most  of  the 
Nana's  adherents  had  two  names,  and  many  even 
more.  Kasi  Bai  and  her  adoptive  mother-in-law, 


THE    LATER   DAYS   OF   NANA   SAHIB.       279 

as  has  been  said,  had  attempted  to  save  Mrs.  Carter's 
life.  When,  on  the  6th  of  December,  they  were 
taken  with  Nana  on  his  flight,  they  took  with 
them  two  ladies,  natives  of  Brahma-wat,  who 
were  living,  and  long  afterwards  lived,  under  Kasi 
Bai's  protection,  though  their  relations  with  Nana 
admitted  of  no  doubt.  With  them  also  went  Bala 
Rao,  his  brother,  Tantia  Topi  the  younger,  Baba 
Godbole,  Jannu  Singh,  and  Parusram  Jagmal, 
old  servants  of  Nana's.  It  is  probable  that  Tantia 
Topi  the  elder  and  his  wife  accompanied  Nana 
on  this  occasion,  but,  if  so,  he  must  almost  imme- 
diately have  left  Nana  and  made  his  way  back  to 
India. 

The  story  of  their  reception  over  the  frontier  is 
strange.  They  were  received  by  Kedarnath  Singh, 
a  Nepalese  general,  who  had  been  specially  deputed 
to  meet  them  by  Sir  Jang  Bahadur,  the  Prime 
Minister.  He  escorted  them  to  a  small  village  called 
Deondari,  probably  identical  with  the  Deongarh 
of  the  map,  near  Tribeni  Ghat.  There  they  awaited 
orders.  It  must  have  been  an  anxious  moment 
for  Nana.  Neutrality  is  a  product  of  the  west, 
and  the  fugitives  may  well  have  encountered  on  the 
road  some  of  the  contingent  of  eight  thousand  that 
Nepal  was  sending  to  the  help  of  the  English  at 
that  time.  Moreover,  Jang  Bahadur  had  an  ugly 
method  of  dealing  with  emergencies.  But  there 


280  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

was  no  help  for  it.  There  was  no  safety  for  Nana 
in  India,  as  he  knew  well  enough.  At  last  Jang 
Bahadur  arrived  in  person.  His  terms  were 
simple.  Kasi  Bai  and  the  other  women  and  the 
servants  were  to  put  themselves  under  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Prime  Minister.  Nana  was  appa- 
rently offered  no  asylum,  but  a  hint  may  have  been 
conveyed  to  him  that  Jang  Bahadur  would  wink 
at  his  escape  in  disguise.  It  seems  certain  that 
Nana  never  saw  his  own  people  again,  even  in 
Nepal,  except  in  this  stealthy  way.  The  terms 
were  agreed  to.  Nana  and  Tantia  handed  over 
their  wives  and  offered  to  go  westwards  in  the 
robe  of  Atits.*  The  dress  was  provided  and  the 
exchange  made. 

At  the  last  moment  one  final  arrangement  had 
to  be  made.  Drawing  from  his  pocket  the  famous 
"  Nau-lakha,"  the  principal  jewel  of  the  Peshwas, 
he  offered  to  sell  it  to  Jang  Bahadur.  It  is — for 
it  exists  still — a  long  necklace  of  pearls,  diamonds, 
and  emeralds,  and  is  perhaps  without  a  rival  in  the 
world.  It  is  estimated  to-day — some  small  addi- 
tions have  been  made  to  it — to  be  worth  one 
hundred  thousand  pounds.  The  unsympathetic 
Prime  Minister  saw  his  chance.  Instead  of  the 
nine  hundred  thousand  rupees,  which  its  very 

*  Atits  are  mendicants  of  the  Saivite  sect.  They  claim  entertainment,  and  on 
the  "angels  unawares"  principle  generally  obtain  it. 


THE   LATER   DAYS    OF   NANA   SAHIB.       281 

name  proclaimed  to  be  its  real  value,  he  offered 
ninety-three  thousand — £9,300 — and  Nana,  com- 
pelled to  take  the  offer  or  leave  it,  accepted  the 
money.  Here,  however,  Kasi  Bai  interposed.  She 
would  prefer,  she  said,  not  to  come  to  Khatmandu 
and  receive  the  price  in  hard  cash.  Would  Jang 
Bahadur  give  her  a  village  or  two  instead  ?  So 
the  Prime  Minister,  conscious  perhaps  of  having 
driven  a  hard  bargain  with  the  helpless,  agreed,  in 
return  for  the  necklace,  to  farm  out  to  her  the 
revenues  of  Dhangara  and  Raharia  for  four  thou- 
sand five  hundred  rupees  a  year,  which  gave  her  a 
margin  of  between  six  and  seven  thousand  rupees 
a  year,  besides  the  four  hundred  a  month  which 
Jang  Bahadur  allowed  her  for  her  maintenance. 
Thus  the  shrewd  little  lady  secured  a  return  of 
nearly  eight  per  cent,  upon  the  price  of  the  neck- 
lace.* 

Then,  the  two  menf  in  their  "  girna-basta " 
dress  took  each  a  small  "  danda "  in  his  hand, 
and  went  out  to  the  west,  and  as  he  turned  away 

*  The  Maharaja  of  Darbhanga  owns  this  necklace  now.  It  descended  through 
Ranodip  Singh,  Jang  Bahadur's  son,  to  Maharaja  Bir  Shamsher,  whose  widow 
sold  it  for  its  full  value,  900,000  rupees,  to  the  Maharaja  Deb  Shamsher,  then 
Prime  Minister.  He  was  expelled,  and,  carrying  the  jewels  with  him,  sold 
them  at  twenty-four  hours'  notice  to  the  present  Maharaja  of  Darbhanga.  Accus- 
tomed as  Calcutta  is  to  displays  of  gems,  the  sight  of  this  necklace  upon  the 
Maharaja  on  the  occasion  this  year  of  laying  the  foundation-stone  of  the  Victoria 
Memorial  Hall  caused  something  of  a  stir,  though  its  history  was  probably  known 
to  few. 

f  As  is  well  known,  Tantia  Topi  was  eventually  caught  and  hanged  at  Sipri 
in  1859. 


282  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Nana  Sahib  said,  "  I  cannot  live  in  the  hills  or 
in  the  terai.  I  will  go  to  the  west,  to  some  country 
where  these  sahibs  are  not  in  power. "  So  Kasi 
Bai  and  her  small  court  were  left,  and  they  went 
far  to  the  extreme  east  of  Nepal,  to  Dhangara. 
a  village  on  the  Kosi,  not  far  from  the  Bengal 
frontier.  But  before  she  left  the  neighbourhood 
of  Deondari,  Bala  Rao,  Nana's  brother,  sickened 
and  died  of  malarial  fever.  This  was  in  many  ways 
a  good  thing  for  everyone,  for  it  started  the  report 
of  Nana's  own  death,  and  things  were  kept  so  secret 
that  General  Sidhiman  Singh,  governor  of  the 
western  terai,  once  assured  an  English  officer  that 
he  had  been  present  at  Nana  Sahib's  burning  in  the 
Bhutwal  district  near  Deongarh. 

Life  at  Dhangara  was  not  as  uneventful  for 
Kasi  Bai  as  might  have  been  expected.  It  may 
as  well  be  confessed  at  once  that  she  was  far  from 
being  faithful  to  Nana.  Jang  Bahadur  she  could 
perhaps  hardly  resist,  but  the  list  of  her  lovers 
is  much  more  extensive.  Young  Tantia  Topi  was 
probably  the  favoured  one,  but  it  seems  that  there 
was  also  some  justification  for  the  jealous  feud 
between  Narazon  Rao — a  servant  of  Nana's  who 
was  once  arrested  in  India  as  Nana  himself  ;  his 
other  name  was  Nana  Safiri — and  Bulwant  Rao, 
who  was,  by  the  way,  young  Tantia  Topi's  half- 
brother.  Accusation  and  counter-accusation  even- 


THE  LATER  DAYS  OF  NANA  SAHIB.  283 
tually  resulted  in  the  expulsion  of  Narazon  Rao 
and  the  imprisonment  of  Bulwant  Rao. 

In  the  latter  case,  the  actual  ground  of  the  accusa- 
tion was  that  Bulwant  Rao  had  stolen  jewels  which 
Nana  Sahib  had  entrusted  to  him  to  sell.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Bulwant  Rao  behaved  perfectly 
honestly.  These  jewels,  to  the  value  of  136,000 
rupees,  were  sold  in  Lahore.  Jang  Bahadur,  how- 
ever, seized  the  opportunity  of  getting  rid  of  a  rival 
and  Bulwant  Rao  remained  for  some  time  in  prison. 
In  this  connection  there  was  one  of  the  strangest 
incidents  of  the  whole  story  of  Nana  Sahib.  Kasi 
Bai,  who  seems  throughout  to  have  been  a  good- 
hearted  woman,  actually  approached  the  late  Duke 
of  Edinburgh  during  his  tour  in  Nepal  with  a 
request  that  he  should  ask  for  Bulwant  Rao's 
release.  What  a  strange  picture  it  is  ! 

Three  or  four  years  after  her  arrival  Kasi  Bai  sent 
a  letter  to  her  father  in  India,  asking  him  to  come 
and  see  her.  With  Oriental  deliberation,  he  does  so 
in  1866,  and  with  him  goes  Azimullah  Khan,  N  ana's 
late  secretary.  Now,  in  1866,  the  belief  that  the 
famous  rebel  was  dead  had  become  universal, 
so  that  the  worthy  Sakharam  was  a  little  upset 
to  notice  that  his  daughter  was  still  wearing  the 
"  tika,"  or  spot  of  red  turmeric,  on  the  forehead, 
bangles  on  her  wrists,  and  the  kajur  (antimony) 
adornment  in  her  eyes.  No  Konkanasta  widow 


284  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

could  wear  these  proofs  of  "  coverture "  for  a 
moment.  Baji  Rao's  widow,  who  was  living  in 
the  same  house,  had,  of  course,  abjured  them  all. 
Azimullah  Khan,*  on  his  return  to  India,  also 
assured  one  Ganesh,  a  chowkidar  at  Cawnpore, 
that  Nana  was  still  alive,  and  living  under  the 
protection  of  Sir  Jang  Bahadur.  Indeed,  in  Nepal 
there  seems  to  have  been  little  concealment  of  the 
fact.  Servants  still  watched  over  Nana's  bed, 
"  puja "  was  still  made  to  Nana's  silver  chair 
and  tulsi-leaves  strewn  before  it.  Nor  was  this 
all.  The  nightly  talk  in  the  kacheri  of  the 
*  Begam's  "  house  at  Dhangara  was  of  the  coming 
of  the  Russians,  and  the  reinstatement  of  Nana 
upon  the  throne. 

One  name  occurs  once  or  twice  at  this  time. 
The  residence  of  Nana  is  said  to  be  a  village  called 
Thapa  Teli.  Thapa,  or  Thapu,  seems  to  be  a 
Nepalese  word  for  a  district  or  a  village,  but  Teli 
is  still  unidentified.  The  only  indication  of  its 
whereabouts  is  that  Ririthang,  which  is  apparently 
near  to  it,  is  said  to  be  thirty-five  days'  march  west- 
wards of  Dhangara.  If  the  extreme  difficulty  of 
travelling  in  Nepal  is  not  borne  in  mind,  it  might  be 
thought  almost  impossible  to  spend  thirty-five  days 
in  moving  from  one  part  of  it  to  another.  As  it  is, 

*  This  man  is  believed  afterwards  to  have  made  the  pilgrimage  to  Mecca  and 
died  there, 


THE   LATER   DAYS   OF   NANA   SAHIB.       285 

it  is  probably  an  adequate  description  of  the  distance 
from  Dhangara  to  Ririkot — "  thang "  means  a 
plain  and  therefore  probably  applies  to  some  portion 
of  the  district — which  lies  in  the  far  west  on  the 
main  road  a  few  miles  short  of  Sil  Garhi.  Thirty 
miles  west  again  is  a  hamlet  called  Tila-teli,  which 
may  be  the  place  referred  to,  especially  if  the 
adjacent  mountains  are  known  as  the  Dongsalian 
range.  Wherever  it  is,  Jang  Bahadur  seems  to 
have  allowed  Nana  Sahib  to  settle  there  under  the 
pretence  of  keeping  a  shop,  and  to  have  settled  a 
small  monthly  allowance  of  a  hundred  or  hundred 
and  fifty  rupees  upon  the  unhappy  man.  But 
every  year  about  the  time  of  the  Shurat  Mela,  which 
took  place  in  January  or  February,  Nana,  in  the 
disguise  of  an  Atit,  returned  to  Dhangara.  On 
these  occasions,  Kasi  Bai,  in  the  teeth  of  all  Brah- 
minical  customs,  superintended  personally  the  dis- 
tribution of  food  to  pilgrims,  and  no  doubt 
managed  to  snatch  a  few  minutes7  conversation 
with  her  husband. 

In  1864  there  had  been  a  rumour  among  our 
troops  at  Diwangiri  on  the  Assam  frontier  that 
Nana  was  present  with  the  Tongsa  Penlop  and 
the  Bhutanese  army.  In  1870,  a  near  relative  of 
the  Governor  of  Bhutwal — where  Nana  is  said 
to  have  died — testified  from  personal  knowledge  that 
he  was  still  alive.  Early  in  1875  the  definite  news 


286  UNDER  THE   SUN. 

was  received  that  he  was  then  thirty-five  days 
west  of  Trebeni  Ghat  (probably  a  slip),  and  an 
assurance  was  given  that  on  March  5th  he  would 
come  to  make  his  annual  visit  to  the  Rani  through 
Chit  wan,  "  below  Chandagiri.J>  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  there  seems  to  have  been  some  delay,  as  the 
Atit  mendicants  did  not  arrive  at  Dhangara  in 
that  year  till  the  latter  days  of  April.  There 
they  received  clothing  and  other  presents, 
and  started  again  westwards,  a  matter  which 
was  specially  arranged  by  the  Rani.  Bulwant 
Rao  seems  to  have  been  the  accredited  agent 
of  Nana  in  these  journeyings,  and  it  is  due  to 
his  activity  that  the  Indian  government  received 
no  more  accurate  information  as  to  Nana's 
movements. 

One  more  extraordinary  piece  of  evidence  re- 
mains. Nana  Sahib,  doubtless  in  his  disguise  as 
an  Atit,  from  time  to  time  attended  the  Kumbh 
Mela  at  Allahabad.  It  is  almost  inconceivable  that 
he  should  thus  put  his  head  into  the  noose,  but  he 
must  have  been  a  desperate  man,  not  unwilling 
perhaps  to  be  caught,  and  once  again,  at  any  cost, 
to  become  the  centre  of  any  Indian  disaffection. 
If  one  version  of  his  latter  days  be  true,  at  the  close 
of  his  life  Nana  gave  up  all  attempt  at  conceal- 
ment. Be  that  as  it  may,  no  less  a  witness  than 
the  President  of  the  Cow  Protection  Society  has 


THE   LATER   DAYS   OF   NANA   SAHIB.       287 

stated  that  so  late  as  1885  Nana  Sahib  dined  with 
him  on  that  festival. 

Here  we  leave  the  hard  road  of  ascertainable 
fact,  and  there  is  a  choice  of  paths.  One  story, 
which  was  told  to  me  by  a  well-known  Rajput 
three  or  four  years  ago,  is  as  definite  as  could  be 
wished.  It  is  to  the  effect  that  Nana,  when  between 
sixty  and  seventy  years  of  age,  was  somewhat 
barbarously  murdered  in  the  terai  by  a  man  named 
Pulia  Fame,  whose  sister  he  had  seduced  some  years 
before.  The  other  story  is  very  different  and  far 
more  tragic.  In  1895,  at  a  place  about  thirty  miles 
from  Rajkot,  an  aged  mendicant,  who  had  been 
creating  a  disturbance  in  the  road,  was  arrested. 
He  said  that  he  was  Nana  Sahib  and  claimed 
the  protection  of  Sir  Jang  Bahadur,  who  had, 
of  course,  died  many  years  before.  The  man 
was  partially  insane,  and  only  excited  merriment 
among  his  own  countrymen.  But  he  talked 
in  his  sleep  of  Nepal,  and  claimed  that  if  he  had 
his  rights  he  would  be  Peshwa.  Witnesses  were 
collected,  his  bodily  marks  noted — apparently  they 
bore  out  his  contention  to  some  extent* — and  the 

*  In  appearance  Nana  is  said  to  have  been  rather  above  middle  height,  with  a 
round  face,  and  eyes  peculiarly  set.  He  was  marked  with  small-pox,  and  some 
authorities  say  that  he  had  a  scar  on  his  forehead.  As  to  less  visible  charac- 
teristics, he  may  or  may  not  have  borne  traces  of  an  operation  for  varicocele. 
The  man  detained  in  1895  seemed  to  some  extent  to  correspond,  and  had  in 
addition  a  scar  on  the  back,  evidently  caused  by  a  lanced  carbuncle.  Some  day 
a  chance  medical  diary,  hitherto  undiscovered,  may  decide  the  matter.  The 
portrait  of  Nana  Sahib,  published  in  The  Illustrated  London  News  at  the  time  of 
the  Mutiny,  is  said  to  be  quite  unlike  him. 


288  UNDER   THE   SUN. 

Indian  Government  was  consulted.  Unutterably 
wise,  Calcutta  ordered  that  the  witnesses  should  be 
dispersed  and  the  man  set  free. 

If  there  was  any  truth  in  the  story,  there  is 
hardly  a  more  desolate  picture  in  history  than  that 
of  Nana  Sahib — old,  discredited,  half-witted,  but 
still  claiming  the  horrible  honour  of  being  himself, 
contemptuously  set  free  by  those  whom  he  had  so 
foully  injured  to  wander  still  along  the  roads,  the 
laughing-stock  of  his  own  people,  vociferating  his 
claims  to  idle  wayfarers  who  soon  passed  on  to 
their  own  business  with  a  smile  for  the  homeless 
and  broken  old  man  whose  brains  God  had  filled 
with  illusion. 

This  is,  perhaps,  all  we  shall  ever  know  of  the 
later  days  of  Nana  Sahib. 


Printed  by  The  Chapel  River  Press,  Kingston,  Surrey. 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


251u\'56WS 

r?PT"*T^  1  P) 

AUG  2  5  1956 

pflCT  2.3.  ttfi?     . 

KtTT    3UN     T7984 

RECEWEk' 

?yt> 

Ftt)  1  7  1995 

/-lorni  /VTIHN  DE 

.PT. 

!,!>  -JI-lOOm-2,'55 
(Hlo9s22)47G 


General  Library 

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